THE   CASSOWARY 


'I  HAVE  BEEN  NARROW,"  SAID  THE  MINISTER 


THE  CASSOWARY 

What  Chanced  in  the  Cleft 
Mountains 


BY  STANLEY  WATERLOO 

Author  of  "The  Story  of   At>,"  "The 

Seekers,"  "The  Wolf's  Long  Howl," 

"The    Story   of    a    Strange 

Career/'  Etc.,  Etc, 

A: 


PUBLISHERS 

MONARCH  BOOK  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT    I9O6     BY 

MONARCH     BOOK    COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.    WHAT  CHANCED  IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS 1 

II.    A  MAN 11 

III.  JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN 19 

IV.  A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE 27 

V.    THE  "FAR  AWAT  LADY" 52 

VI.    THE  LIFE  LINE 60 

VII.   A  TOAD  AND  A  SONG 79 

VIII.    ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG 84 

IX.    THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD 101 

X.    THE  SIREN 114 

XI     THE  PORTER'S  STORY 134 

XII    THE  PURPLE  STOCKING 151 

XIII.  HESITANT 165 

XIV.  A  TEST  OF  ATTITUDE 177 

XV.    A  SAMOAN  IDYL 184 

XVI.    A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP 191 

XVII.    THE  ENCHANTED  Cow 213 

XVIII.    LOVE  AND  A  ZULU 231 

XIX.    AT  BAY  SOFTLY , 250 

XX.    LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY 258 

XXI.    A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR 270 

XXII.    ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING 288 

XXIII.  EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP 305 

XXIV.  THE  Swiss  FAMILY  ROBERTSON 317 

XXV.    THE  LOWRY-TURCK  LOVE  ENTANGLEMENT 345 

XXVI.  THE  PALE  PEACOCK  AND  THE  PURPLE  HERRING.  . .  363 

XXVII.    THE  RELEASE 374 

XXVIII.    LOVE'S  INSOLENCE 384 

XXIX.    AT  LAST 393 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"THE  STOEEKEEPER!"  HE  EXCLAIMED 28 

"l  HAVE  BEEN  NARROW,"  SAID  THE  MINISTER 48 

THEY  PLUNGED  INTO  THE  WHITENESS 68 

THE  GREAT  SNAKE  BEGAN  ITS  WORK  OF  DEGLUTITION 91 

THE  BIG  BODY  RELAXED  AND  STRAIGHTENED  OUT 107 

THE  MAYOR  HAD  BEEN  GETTING  INTERESTED 123 

THE  AWARD  COULD  BUT  GO  TO  UNA  LOA 189 

THE  CHILDREN  CARRIED  AWAY  ARMFULS  OF  FLOWERS ;  209 

SIR  GLADYS  ESCORTED  THE  LADY  FLORETTA  HOME 227 

HE  WAS  UNCONSCIOUS  AS  A  CHILD 285 

A  DOZEN  OR  MORE  NESTS  WERE  FOUND 339 

"WE  SHALL  MEET  AT  BREAKFAST".  .                              383 


THE   CASSOWARY 

CHAPTER  I 

WHAT  CHANCED  IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS 

The  blizzard  snorted  and  raged  at  midnight  up 
the  narrow  pass  west  of  Pike's  Peak,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  which  lay  the  railroad  track,  and  with 
this  tumult  of  the  elements  the  snow  was  falling 
in  masses  which  were  caught  up  and  tossed 
about  in  the  gale  until  the  air  was  but  a  white, 
swirling,  yeasty  mass  through  which  nothing 
could  be  seen  a  yard  away.  The  canyon  was 
filling  rapidly  and  the  awful  storm  showed  no 
sign  of  abatement.  The  passage  was  not  of  the 
narrowest  at  the  place  to  which  this  description 
refers.  The  railroad  builders  had  done  good 
work  in  what  had  been  little  more  than  a  gorge. 
They  had  blasted  and  carried  away  after  the 
manner  of  man  who,  if  resolute  enough,  must 
find  the  way.  He  may  sweat  for  it;  he  may 
freeze  for  it,  but  he  attains  his  end,  as  he  did  in 
forcing  a  passage  through  the  vainglorious 


2  THE  CASSOWARY 

labyrinths  of  the  Rockies.  So,  he  had  made  a 
road  between  the  towering  heights  of  the  Cleft 
Mountains.  He  had  done  well,  but  he  had  left 
a  way  so  indefensible  that  indecent  Nature, 
seeking  reprisals,  might  do  almost  anything 
there  hi  whiter.  Just  now,  with  the  accompany- 
ing war-whoop  of  the  roaring  blast,  she  was 
building  up  an  enormous  buttress  across  the 
King's  Highway.  The  canyon  was  filled  to  the 
depth  of  many  feet,  and  the  buttress  was  grow- 
ing higher  every  moment. 

And,  plunging  forward  from  the  West  toward 
this  buttress  of  snow,  now  came  tearing  ahead 
boisterously  the  trans-continental  tram  from 
San  Francisco.  Its  crew  had  hoped  to  get 
through  the  pass  while  yet  the  thing  was  possi- 
ble. On  it  came  at  full  speed,  the  big  train, 
with  all  its  great  weight  and  tremendous  force 
of  impact,  and  plunged,  like  a  bull  with  lowered 
horns,  into  the  uplifting  mountain  of  snow.  It 
tore  its  way  forward,  resistlessly  at  first,  then 
more  slowly,  and  slower  still,  until,  at  last,  it 
stopped  quiveringly.  But  it  was  not  beaten  yet. 
Back  it  went  hundreds  of  yards  and  hurled 
itself  a  second  tune  into  the  growing  drift.  It 
made  a  slight  advance,  and  that  was  all.  Again 
and  again  it  charged,  but  it  was  useless.  Nature 


IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS  3 

had  won!  Paralyzed  and  inefficient,  the  train 
lay  still. 

Then  to  the  wild  clamor  of  the  storm  was  add- 
ed another  note.  The  whistle  screamed  like  a 
woman.  Why  it  should  be  sounded  at  all  none 
but  the  engineer  could  tell — perhaps  it  was  the 
instinct  of  a  railroad  man  to  sound  the  whistle 
anywhere  in  an  emergency.  Speaking  the  voice 
of  the  train,  its  cry  seemed  to  be,  at  first,  one  of 
alarm  and  protest,  then,  as  the  hand  on  the 
throttle  wavered,  one  of  pleading,  until,  finally, 
beaten  and  discouraged,  it  sank  sobbingly  into 
silence,  awaiting  that  first  aid  for  the  wounded 
in  the  case  of  railroad  trams — the  telegraph. 

Upon  the  trains  which  must  adventure  the 
passes  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  in  winter  are  car- 
ried all  the  means  for  wire-tapping,  that  com- 
munication may  be  had  with  the  outside  world 
on  any  occasion  of  disaster  at  a  distance  from  a 
station,  the  climbing  spikes,  the  cutters,  tweez- 
ers and  leather  gloves,  and  all  the  kit  of  a  pro- 
fessional line  repairer.  Ordinarily,  too,  some 
one  of  the  train  crew,  or  a  professional  teleg- 
rapher, hi  tunes  of  special  apprehension  is  pre- 
pared to  do  the  work  of  the  emergency.  This 
particular  train  had  all  the  necessary  kit,  but,  to 
the  alarm  of  the  conductor  and  engineer  and  all 


4  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  train  crew,  it  was  discovered,  after  they  had 
met  in  hurried  consultation,  that  while  they  had 
the  means,  they  lacked  the  man.  What  was  to 
be  done?  They  must  reach  the  outside  world 
somehow ;  they  must  reach  Belden,  whence  must 
come  the  relief  train  headed  by  the  huge  snow- 
plow  which  would  eventually  release  them. 
The  conductor  was  a  man  of  action:  "It  may 
be,"  he  said,  "  it  may  be  that  there  is  some  one 
on  the  train  who  can  do  the  job.  It's  a  mighty 
doubtful  thing,  but  I'll  find  out." 

He  was  a  big,  red-faced,  heavy-moustached 
man,  with  a  big  voice,  and  he  started  promptly 
on  his  way,  bellowing  through  each  car : 

"Is  there  anybody  here  who  can  cut  in  on  a 
wire,  and  telegraph?  Is  there  anybody  here 
who  can  cut  in  on  a  wire,  and  telegraph?" 

The  strident  call  aroused  everybody  as  he 
passed  along,  but  response  was  lacking.  He  be- 
came discouraged.  As  he  reached  the  drawing- 
room  car  he  was  tempted  to  abandon  the  idea. 
He  hesitated,  unwilling  to  disturb  the  sleepers  in 
— or  rather  the  occupants  of  the  berths,  for  the 
general  tumult  outside  had  awakened  them — but 
pulled  himself  together  and  kept  on.  He  en- 
tered the  car  roaringly  as  he  had  the  others : 

"Is  there  anybody  here  who  can  cut  in  on  a 


IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS  5 

wire,  and  telegraph?  Is  there  anybody  here 
who  can  cut  in  on  a  wire,  and  telegraph?" 

The  curtains  of  one  of  the  berths  were  drawn 
apart,  and  a  head  appeared,  the  head  of  a  man  of 
about  forty  years  of  age  with  clean-cut  features, 
distinctly  those  of  a  gentleman.  There  was 
force  in  the  aquiline  nose  and  the  strong  jaw, 
but  the  voice  was  gentle  enough  when  he  spoke : 

"I  might  do  it,  possibly.  What's  the  matter? 
Stalled?" 

The  conductor  was  astounded.  The  drawing- 
room  car  was  the  last  place  from  which  he  had 
expected  or  hoped  assistance,  but  he  answered 
promptly : 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "we  are  in  a  bad  way,  half 
buried  in  a  snow  mountain.  We've  got  to  reach 
Belden  by  wire,  but  we've  no  one  to  make  the 
connection  and  send  the  message.  If  you  can 
help  us  it  will  be  a  great  thing.  I  hate  to  ask 
you.  It's  going  to  be  an  awful  job." 

"Have  you  got  the  tools?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I'll  try  it." 

John  Stafford  dressed  hurriedly.  He  emerged, 
a  straight,  broad-shouldered  man,  possessed 
apparently  of  exceptional  strength  and  vigor, 
qualities  soon  to  be  tested  to  the  utmost.  He 


6  THE  CASSOWARY 

went  forward  with  the  conductor  to  the  car  at 
the  front,  in  which  the  trainmen  were  assembled. 
He  equipped  himself  for  the  work,  then,  lamp  in 
hand,  he  stepped  out  upon  the  platform  and 
looked  about  him.  He  could  see  nothing. 

He  was  enclosed  between  walls  of  white, 
the  substance  of  which  was  revolving,  curling 
and  twisting  uncannily.  What  seemed  almost 
the  impenetrable  was  beside  him.  All  vision 
was  cut  off.  There  was  but  the  mystery  of  the 
filled  canyon.  And  he  must  venture  out  into 
that  sinister,  invisible  space,  find  a  telegraph 
pole  and  climb  it  and  cut  the  wire  and  talk  with 
Belden !  The  thing  was  appalling. 

But  a  resolute  and  courageous  man  was  John 
Stafford,  civil  engineer,  and  he  had  been  building 
railroads  in  Siberia.  He  gave  swift  directions 
to  the  trainmen : 

"Get  together  and  light  all  the  lamps  you  have 
and  bring  them  here,"  he  ordered;  "set  some  of 
them  hi  this  window  and  hang  some  of  them 
against  it.  I  want  the  brightest  beacon  I  can 
have.  Keep  the  glass  of  the  window  clean  and 
clear,  inside  and  outside."  Then,  with  a  coil  of 
wire  about  him,  and  lamp  in  hand,  he  stepped 
out  into  that  wicked  vastness. 

He  plunged  into  snow  up  to  his  neck.     He 


IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS  7 

realized  now  more  than  ever  what  was  the  task 
he  had  undertaken.  He  stamped  to  clear  as 
well  as  he  could  a  little  space  about  him  and 
took  his  bearings.  Practical  railroad  man,  he 
had  reasoned  out  his  course.  He  had  with  him 
a  pocket  compass  and  upon  this  alone  he  relied. 
He  knew  the  distance  from  the  track  to  the  tele- 
graph line  and  knew  that  by  going  just  so  many 
yards  north  and  then  going  directly  east  or  west 
he  would  reach  a  pole.  But  the  distance  he 
could  only  estimate,  and  who  could  accomplish 
that  feat  with  any  degree  of  accuracy  under  such 
conditions? 

Then  began  a  fight  which  must  remain  a  des- 
perate memory  with  the  man  forever. 

Straight  north  he  began  his  way,  plowing, 
digging,  almost  burrowing.  It  was  fearful  work, 
body-distressing,  soul-trying.  To  acquire  an 
added  yard  in  his  progress  was  a  task.  Cold  as 
it  was,  he  was  perspiring  violently  hi  no  time. 
The  snow  had  begun  to  pack,  and  in  the  slight 
depressions,  where  it  was  deepest,  he  had  even 
to  heave  his  chest  against  it  to  force  his  way. 
His  feet  became  clogged  and  heavy.  But  he 
floundered  on.  He  became  angry  over  it  all. 
He  would  not  be  beaten!  At  last,  as  he  esti- 
mated, he  reached  a  point  which  must  lie  some- 


8  THE  CASSOWARY 

where  in  the  line  between  poles,  but  he  was  not 
sure.  He  could  not  judge  of  distance,  in  such  a 
struggle.  He  lay  down  hi  the  snow  and  drew 
long  breaths  and  rested  until  the  cold,  checking 
the  welling  perspiration,  warned  him  that,  if  he 
would  live,  he  must  work  again. 

Straight  east  by  the  compass  he  started,  and 
there  was  renewed  the  same  fierce,  exhausting 
struggle,  but  this  tune  maintained  much  longer. 
He  kept  it  up  until  he  knew  he  must  have  com- 
passed more  than  half  the  distance — all  that 
was  required — between  two  poles,  but  he  could 
not  find  one.  The  situation  was  becoming 
desperate.  The  lamp  gave  light  for  only  a  yard 
ahead,  no  more,  because  of  the  wall  of  falling 
snow.  Back  and  forth  he  went,  almost  ex- 
hausted now,  his  heart  thumping,  his  breath  ex- 
hausted. And  then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  lie 
down  again  to  a  rest  which  would  have  been 
more  than  dangerous,  he  stumbled  upon  a  tele- 
graph pole.  It  was  but  fortune. 

Stafford's  strength  returned  with  the  finding 
of  the  pole.  He  would  at  least  accomplish  what 
he  sought  to  do !  He  rested  long  against  the  pole 
and  then  began  the  ascent.  Everything  was 
easy  now.  The  work  in  hand  was  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  battle  in  the  drift.  He  cut  in  on 


IN  THE  CLEFT  MOUNTAINS  9 

the  wire,  made  the  connection,  talked  with 
Belden  and  got  assurance  of  instant  gathering  of 
every  force  at  command  there  for  the  rescue. 
The  relief  train  would  start  at  once.  There  is 
sympathy  and  understanding  and  swift  aid 
where  they  have  learned  to  know  the  perils  of 
the  passes. 

Stafford  came  down  the  pole  at  ease.  Every- 
thing was  all  right  now.  All  he  had  to  do  was 
to  go  back  to  the  train  and  rest.  He  would  fol- 
low his  back  track.  He  looked  for  it,  but  there 
was  no  back  track!  The  densely  falling  snow 
had  obliterated  it  completely.  He  fell  back  upon 
the  compass  again,  and  all  the  desperate  work 
was  but  repeated.  He  was  becoming  fault  and 
thoroughly  exhausted  now.  He  looked  for  the 
beacon  light  in  the  window  but  he  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  look  through  a  stone  wall.  He 
feared  his  case  was  hopeless,  but  he  did  not  flinch 
nor  lose  his  courage.  He  sat  down  in  the  snow, 
unable  for  the  moment  to  go  further,  and  shout- 
ed with  all  the  force  of  which  his  strained  lungs 
were  capable,  but,  at  first,  with  no  result.  At 
last  he  thought  he  heard  an  answering  call,  and 
later  he  was  assured  of  it.  That  revived  him. 
He  got  upon  his  feet  again  and  stumbled  forward, 
following  the  direction  of  the  sound.  Two 


10  THE  CASSOWARY 

forms  appeared  beside  him  suddenly.  They 
were  those  of  the  conductor  and  engineer.  He 
was  taken  by  each  arm,  and,  staggering  between 
the  two,  was  lifted  into  the  car.  He  was  ap- 
proaching a  state  of  entire  collapse,  but  brandy 
stimulated  him  into  ability  to  tell  of  what  he  had 
accomplished.  The  trainmen  were  more  than 
grateful.  They  removed  his  outer  clothing,  and, 
half-carrying  him  to  his  berth,  left  him  there  en- 
veloped in  a  warm  blanket.  He  was  oblivious 
to  all  things  in  a  moment,  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
utter  exhaustion. 


CHAPTER  II 

AMAN 

Weary  of  fighting  off  thoughts,  tired  with  the 
insistent  intrusions  of  memory,  John  Stafford, 
who  had  awakened  refreshed  and  himself  again, 
leaned  back  hi  his  seat  and  gave  himself  up  to 
the  bitter-sweet  of  the  home-coming  after  long 
absence.  Landing  from  the  steamer  in  San 
Francisco,  Stafford  had  still  felt  himself  to  be  in 
a  strange  country,  though  the  people  proclaimed 
themselves  Americans  of  the  Americans  hi  every 
look  and  turn  and  voice.  But  the  blue  sky  and 
the  blue  bay,  the  mountains  and  the  outdoor 
life  of  the  people,  gave  Stafford  still  the  feeling 
that  he  was  yet  in  a  foreign  land,  as  he  had  been 
for  five  years  or  more. 

He  had  not  counted  the  tune  from  the  first 
six  weeks  after  his  departure  from  America. 

Across  mountains,  deserts,  prairies,  plains  and 
rolling  hills  with  peopled  cities  hi  their  sheltering 
folds,  Stafford  held  his  way  toward  the  East. 
He  hardly  knew  his  destination.  To  New  York, 
or  to  stop  to  the  central  whirlpool  of  life  in 


11 


12  THE  CASSOWARY 

America  where  goes  most  of  what  is  from  the 
West  toward  the  outer  edges  of  the  roaring  mar- 
ket place  of  the  Indian  name,  built  where  the 
sluggish  river  flows,  juggled  by  the  hand  of  man 
out  of  the  great  inland  Sea  of  Michigan  into  the 
Mississippi  Valley,  where  it  originally  belonged. 
To  one  of  the  two  cities  he  was  indifferently 
bound. 

Now,  with  eyes  closed,  and  lips  firmly  and 
perhaps  grimly  set,  Stafford  looked  the  past  in 
the  face,  and  speculated  as  to  the  future.  To 
him  it  was  all  undetermined.  He  could  give 
it  no  continuous  thought,  for  the  past  kept 
haunting  him,  as  it  had,  more  and  more,  with 
every  mile  on  the  way  from  the  Pacific  Coast. 

His  had  been  one  of  the  tragedies  of  life  and 
love.  A  strong  man,  upright,  conscientious, 
brilliant  and  familiar  with  social  risks,  he  had 
yet  fallen  in  love  with  a  married  woman,  the 
wife  of  a  brute,  an  animal  unsuited  to  her  hi 
every  way,  but  still  the  wife. 

It  had  been  a  love  as  wonderful  as  it  was 
blameless.  The  two  had  met,  and  had  invol- 
untarily, by  the  mere  force  of  a  natural  gravita- 
tion, been  drawn  toward  each  other,  and,  since 
they  fitted,  the  inevitable  had  taken  place. 
The  very  fibres  of  their  souls  had  intertwined. 


A  MAN  13 

It  was  the  story,  old  as  time,  of  love  barred  by 
the  law  which  men  have  made  for  good,  a  story 
the  material  for  which  exists  in  all  lands  and 
among  all  races,  in  all  climates  and  under  all 
conditions,  whether  it  be  where  gather  the  sof- 
test of  the  lazy  mists  which  float  beneath  the 
palms  of  the  Equator  or  as  near  the  North  Pole 
as  the  musk  ox  browses.  The  woman  un- 
righteously married  and  the  man  unmarried — 
or  the  reverse — will  come  together.  Like  wire 
of  gold  through  armorer's  bronze,  a  perfect 
cloisonne",  will  come,  sometimes,  the  close  rela- 
tionship. And,  where  is  the  fault  of  loving  in- 
voluntarily, helplessly,  but  sinning  not  at  all? 
Nature  is  God's  and  has  her  paths,  and  Love  is 
but  the  index  finger  of  the  two. 

But  John  Stafford  and  Mary  Eversham  were 
not  of  the  sort  to  violate  the  conscience  by  yield- 
ing to  fond  desire.  The  right  was  first  with  this 
splendid  man  and  woman.  One  sweet  privilege 
they  allowed  themselves,  that  of  a  full  confession 
to  each  other  of  all  that  was  in  their  hearts,  and 
then  they  separated,  he  to  seek  in  Russia  such 
f  orgetf ulness  as  strenuous  work  might  bring,  she 
to  bear  patiently  the  weight  of  a  barren  life. 
Now  he  had  fought  his  fight  in  the  frigid  North- 


14  THE  CASSOWARY 

era  Orient,  and  had  returned,  a  winning  Ameri- 
can, but  objectless  and  restless. 

The  man  musing  there  gloomily  at  last  aroused 
himself:  "I'll  think  no  more,"  he  muttered; 
"I'll  exhibit  a  little  common  sense;"  and  he 
devoted  his  attention  to  what  was  going  on 
about  him. 

The  storm  had  passed.  As  morning  neared, 
it  lessened  somewhat  in  its  force,  and  when  day- 
light came,  opaque  and  dim,  it  ended  suddenly. 
The  blizzard  groaned  and  then  dropped  into 
nothingness. 

It  was  a  curious  and  impressive  sight  which 
was  afforded  those  on  the  tram  as  they  streamed 
out  and  massed  themselves  upon  the  platforms — 
for  those  in  the  sleepers  dressed  hurriedly  and 
came  out  only  a  little  later  than  the  occupants  of 
the  other  cars,  who  had  slight  dressing  to  do — 
and  it  was  a  sight  in  no  degree  encouraging. 
About  them  was  but  an  endless  reach  of  dead, 
unenlivened  dreary  white,  the  dull  white  of  a 
tombstone,  and  they  knew  that  they  were  the 
helpless  prisoners  of  this  solitude.  They  were 
appalled.  It  affected  them  all,  though  different- 
ly, according  to  their  character. 

Food  for  days  they  had,  certainly,  and  heat 
for  the  present.  This  was  on  the  credit  side. 


A  MAN  15 

On  the  other  side  were  a  variety  of  threatening 
possibilities.  Weak  people  have  died  in  snow- 
bound trains.  Should  they  be  imprisoned  for 
long  there  would  be  no  heat,  and  the  cold  in  the 
mountains  is  something  that  seeks  the  very 
marrow.  Such  cold  they  might  have  to  endure. 
Some  one  spoke  shudderingly  of  a  singular  death 
caused  by  this  bitter  enemy  hi  a  train  stalled 
years  before  not  far  from  the  place  where  they 
were  now  almost  entombed,  for  the  canyons  in 
the  rear  were  filled  by  this  time  and  by  no  possi- 
bility could  the  train  be  moved  in  one  direction 
or  another.  The  story  was  that  of  the  death 
of  a  wonderful  little  personage  who,  though 
nearly  thirty  years  of  age,  was  only  thirty  inches 
in  height,  most  famous  of  dwarfs,  the  Mexican 
woman,  Lucia  Zerete.  Wrap  her  warmly  as 
they  would,  they  could  not  save  her.  The  frost 
permeated  her  slight  body  and  she  died  upon  the 
unheated  train.  The  allusion  brought  a  shud- 
der. That  awful  frost  in  the  air  seeks  all  human- 
ity within  its  limits,  and  then,  for  the  more  fra- 
gile, the  world  may  no  longer  be  going  round. 

The  sky  lightened  gradually,  and  toward  noon 
the  clouds  broke  so  that  the  sun  shone  for  a  brief 
space,  but  there  came  no  real  brightness.  The 
sun  did  his  best,  but  it  was  little.  He  was  trying 


16  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  send  his  rays  to  the  depths  of  the  canyon, 
but  was  not  succeeding  very  well.  He  is  ad- 
mirable at  straight  work,  this  luminary  who 
gives  us  heat  and  light  and  life — but  when  it 
comes  to  giving  quality  to  rays  which  have  to  be 
again  reflected,  he  is  only  moderately  efficient. 
The  sides  of  the  canyon  laughed  at  him.  "You 
may  lighten  and  heat  our  enclosed  depths  some- 
what," they  said,  "but  you  cannot  give  to  the 
canyon  the  real  sunshine.  You  may  be  lord  of 
our  solar  system,  but  we  upheaving  rocks  of  this 
particular  region  of  this  particular  planet  can 
temper  your  force  beyond  all  reason!" 

Incidents  enough  were  occurring  hi  Stafford's 
car.  The  porter,  apparently  a  white  man,  and  a 
blonde,  was  just  ushering  in  a  forlorn  company 
of  wayside  travelers,  and  gave  them  seats  in  the 
vacant  places,  of  which  there  were  not  a  few, 
for  travel  was  light  on  the  line,  these  short  Feb- 
ruary days  of  the  year  when  the  "Great  Storm" 
burst,  not  here  alone,  but,  later,  upon  the  Atlan- 
tic States,  and  played  with  men  and  all  their 
work  for  a  day  and  a  night,  giving  to  the  human 
pigmy  a  terrifying  lesson  of  his  own  insignifi- 
cance when  the  forces  of  Nature  take  hold  in 
earnest  to  shake  and  tumble  into  fragments  the 


A  MAN  17 

cherished  works  of  her  ordinarily  spoiled  darling, 
Man. 

"This  car  has  the  best  accommodations,  and 
so  they  are  bringing  the  way  passengers  in  here," 
the  Porter  explained,  as  he  strove  to  make  com- 
fortable a  tearful  woman,  whose  whole  being 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  effort  to  make  the 
world  know  that  she  had  left  her  two  children 
alone  at  home,  while  she  made  the  five-mile 
journey  by  rail  to  the  nearest  town,  and  back, 
to  buy  some  family  stores,  the  nature,  price 
and  quantity  of  which  she  was  by  no  means  loth 
to  describe  in  detail. 

"I  meant  to  take  the  'commodation,"  she 
repeated  to  whomsoever  listened  to  her,  "but  the 
'commodation  didn't  come,  and  they  put  me  on 
the  express,  and  I  thought  it  was  fine  to  ride  on 
the  through  passenger,  that  never  stops  at  our 
station,  but  I've  got  enough  of  the  express, 
stuck  all  this  time  in  the  snow,  and  there  are  my 
poor  children  locked  up  at  home." 

The  men  fidgeted  in  their  seats,  and  the  wo- 
men, one  or  two  of  them,  went  to  the  wayside 
passenger  and  gave  her  the  aid,  comfort  and 
support  of  listening  to  her,  as  the  one  form  of 
consolation  possible.  By  no  means  alone  was 
the  woman  in  her  murmurings.  There  were 


18  THE  CASSOWARY 

others  quite  as  querulous  and  restless,  particu- 
larly one  man,  a  stormy  mountain  character, 
who  was  a  storekeeper  in  the  town  where  the 
complaining  woman  lived,  and  who  announced 
that  he  must  get  home  somehow  and  at  once. 
The  day  passed  miserably.  The  prisoners  had 
not  yet  settled  down  into  a  patient  acquiescence 
with  what  was. 


CHAPTER  III 
JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN 

After  supper,  Stafford,  feeling  clamorously 
the  need  of  a  cigar,  strolled  back  into  the  smok- 
ing compartment.  It  was  already  well  filled, 
among  the  occupants  being  a  Colonel  Living- 
stone, a  genial  character  with  whom  Stafford 
had  already  become  acquainted.  He  was  greet- 
ed warmly  and  seated  himself  to  engage  idly  in 
the  desultory  conversation  which  was  going  on. 

"I  wonder  what  breed  of  Indians  once  in- 
habited this  region?"  queried  one  of  the  smokers. 
"They  must  have  had  poor  picking." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  colonel,  " Apaches, 
I  imagine." 

A  drawling  voice  broke  in,  the  owner  of  which 
was  a  young  man,  a  person  of  such  self-con- 
fidence, nerve  and  general  up-to-dateness,  that 
Stafford  whimsically  christened  him  "The  Gallus 
Youth." 

"I  know  an  Indian  story  which  is  true,"  said 
the  Gallus  Youth.  "Do  you  want  me  to  tell  it  ?" 

There  was  a  general  assent,  the  smokers  sub- 


19 


20  THE  CASSOWARY 

sided  comfortably  in  their  seats,  and  from  clouds 
of  smoke  the  voice  proceeded,  the  whole  group 
listening,  or  at  least,  if  not  listening,  keeping 
silence : 

JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN 

Probably  nothing  more  strange  and  puzzling 
has  ever  happened,  either  in  a  great  city  or  in  the 
country,  than  what  is  to  be  told  of  here,  and 
which  relates  to  both. 

When  John  Lipsky  bought  the  small  barber 
shop  on  South  Clark  street  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  increase  his  receipts  a  trifle  by 
putting  in  a  modest  show-case  containing  cigars 
and  cigarettes  and  tobacco;  for  Lipsky,  while  a 
man  with  no  vices,  has  a  large  family  to  support 
and  is  compelled  not  only  to  economize  but  to 
devise  all  means  for  adding  to  the  defenses 
against  the  wolf  at  the  door.  When  he  bought 
the  barber  shop,  which  contained  only  two  chairs, 
he  was  forced  to  make  the  investment  on  credit, 
as  was  also  the  case  with  the  cigar  and  tobacco 
outfit.  He  was  forced  also  to  make  certain  re- 
pairs inside  the  shop,  and  found  himself  then 
without  money  and  with  a  business  not  yet  es- 
tablished, while  the  little  Lipskys  kept  on  eating 
and  wearing  out  clothes.  He  could  not  afford  a 


JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN  21 

barber's  pole,  though  the  stripes  painted  on  the 
door  jamb  had  practically  disappeared  under 
the  influence  of  wind  and  weather,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  put  out  a  sign  to  make  it  known  to 
passers-by  that  he  had  cigars  for  sale.  He 
might  afford  one  of  the  signs,  but,  assuredly,  not 
both.  Then  to  thrifty  John  Lipsky  came  a  sud- 
den inspiration.  Why  not  combine  the  signs  in 
one  ? 

And  here  comes  in  what  seems  a  key  and  yet 
may  not  be  a  key  to  happenings  too  remarkable 
for  belief. 

Oswald  Shornstein  is  a  sculptor  working  in  a 
great  establishment  on  the  West  Side.  His 
specialty  in  the  sculptor's  art  is  the  making  of 
wooden  Indians.  Shornstein's  vacation  last 
summer  was  spent  hi  Wisconsin,  where  he  spent 
much  of  his  idling  time  in  the  vicinity  of  an 
Indian  settlement  near  Green  Bay.  He  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  a  prominent  member  of  the 
dwindling  tribe,  a  tough  old  hunter  known  as 
Keeshamok — which,  translated,  means  "Bound- 
ing Bear" — and  they  were  often  together,  fishing 
and  smoking  and  loafing  throughout  the  pleasant 
summer  days.  When  Shornstein  returned  to 
town  he  entertained  a  feeling  of  decided  friend- 
ship for  the  lazy  but  interesting  Winnebago. 


22  THE  CASSOWARY 

The  sculptor's  vacation  had  done  him  good, 
and  he  plunged  with  vigor  into  his  work  again, 
the  more  so  because  the  supply  of  wooden  Indi- 
ans at  the  tune  was  hardly  equal  to  the  demand, 
and  within  a  week  he  had  produced  a  master- 
piece. 

Shornstein  had  genius,  but,  in  this  case,  genius 
had  an  inspiration.  Ordinarily  Shornstein  made 
just  an  Indian,  but  now  it  was  different.  It  was 
a  particular  Indian  which  came  forth  from  the 
wood  in  response  to  his  practised  handiwork. 
Fresh  in  the  mind  of  the  artist  were  the  face  and 
figure  of  the  swarthy  Keeshamok,  and,  almost 
unconsciously,  he  reproduced  them.  The  work 
was  done.  There  upon  his  pedestal  stood  Kee- 
shamok of  the  Winnebagos! 

Meanwhile  what  of  Lipsky?  He  had  resolved 
to  advertise  shop  and  cigars  at  one  fell  swoop; 
he  would  buy  a  wooden  Indian  and  have  him 
painted  gloriously  in  colored  spiral  stripes  from 
head  to  heel !  He  carried  out  his  idea  promptly 
and  fate  ordained  it  that  the  wooden  Indian 
bought  by  Lipsky  was  the  image  of  the  Winne- 
bago,  Keeshamok.  It  was  painted  according  to 
the  barber's  wildest  design,  and  never  was  seen 
such  a  sign  before !  Holy  Moses !  It  would  have 
scared  a  wolverine !  Lipsky  had  been  wiser  than 


JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN  23 

he  knew.  From  failure  he  had  plucked  success. 
The  terrifying  sign  brought  curious  customers 
in  scores ;  cigars  sold  rapidly  and  the  business  of 
the  barber  shop  required  at  once  another  chair. 

Meanwhile  had  come  November  and  hunting 
was  good  in  the  Wisconsin  woods.  The  Indians 
were  alert.  Keeshamok  and  a  companion  one 
day  killed  a  deer  and  dragged  it  to  the  nearest 
village,  where  they  made  a  sale.  They  stag- 
gered forth  at  dusk  each  whooping  gutturally 
but  joyously,  and  each  carrying  a  mighty  jug. 
They  took  the  forest  path  for  camp  and  pursued 
it  weavingly  but  far,  until,  at  last,  Keeshamok, 
somewhat  the  drunker,  proposed  a  camp  upon 
the  spot  and  consumption  of  firewater  all  through 
the  deepening  night.  His  companion  refused 
and  left  him  to  his  own  devices. 

Obtruding  almost  into  the  roadway  projected 
the  end  of  a  mighty  hollow  log  lying  beneath  a 
mountain  of  smaller  logs  and  brush,  and  to  Kee- 
shamok came,  as  he  stood  there  undecided,  a 
novel  vision  of  beatitude.  There  were  warmth 
and  shelter.  He  would  creep  into  the  log,  and 
there,  with  his  jug  to  comfort  him,  pass  such  a 
night  as  Indian  never  passed  before !  He  acted 
on  the  glorious  impulse. 

He  crawled  far  in  and  stretched  himself  out 


24  THE  CASSOWARY 

upon  the  soft,  dry  flakes  of  rotten  wood  and  took 
deep  draughts  of  whisky  and  defied  the  outside 
world!  It  was  a  solitary  but  a  grand  debauch. 
The  hours  passed  and  the  Indian  became  almost 
torpid.  He  slept  a  little.  The  cold  intensified 
and  he  awoke  and  drank  again,  but  was  still 
cold.  He  comprehended  but  dimly,  yet  another 
idea  came  to  him.  He  would  build  a  little  fire 
and  that  would  warm  him!  He  scraped  to- 
gether a  mound  of  the  dry  debris  beyond  him, 
and,  after  many  efforts,  got  a  match  alight  and 
applied  it  to  the  heap,  which  blazed  at  once. 
It  warmed  him.  He  took  another  drink  and  lay 
down  again  and  slept. 

There  appeared  next  morning  beside  the  wood 
road  a  vast  gray  patch  of  surface  upon  which 
could  be  seen  no  object  larger  than  a  hand.  The 
ashes  of  the  great  hollow  tree  and  of  the  dead 
trees  upon  it  were  sifting  through  the  forest  with 
every  wind,  and  with  them  were  blown  the  ashes 
of  the  Indian  Keeshamok.  He  had  no  body! 

That  night  something  happened  in  South 
Clark  Street  in  Chicago,  something  so  inexplica- 
ble and  startling  as  to  pass  beyond  the  realm  of 
credibility.  At  precisely  midnight,  the  striped 
Indian  in  front  of  Lipsky's  barber-shop  stepped 
from  his  pedestal  and  fled  northward,  without  a 


JOHN  LIPSKY'S  SIGN  25 

sound.  So  silent  and  so  swift  his  flight  that 
those  whom  he  met  or  passed  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  a  flitting  thing.  The  city  was  left  behind 
and  still  northward  across  the  frozen  fields  and 
through  the  woods  he  went.  The  medicine 
moccasins  of  Hiawatha  never  carried  one  more 
wondrously.  The  farms  and  forests  of  far  Wis- 
consin were  reached  at  last  and  faded  by,  and  at 
last  before  the  runner's  eyes  appeared  the  cab- 
ins of  his  kinsmen.  What  life  came  to  him  now ! 
He  bounded  upward  in  exaltation!  He  burst 
in  among  the  clustered  habitations  with  the  wild 
piercing  whoop  of  the  returning  warrior! 

"Owannox!  wah  quah-quah!  Kinniwa!  Wow, 
wow,  wanny-wanny-Yook!  Ek-ek!  Laroo!" 

Cabin  doors  burst  open,  dogs  rushed  forth, 
men  and  squaws  dashed  out  and  all  was  wild 
commotion.  The  voice  of  Keeshamok  had  been 
recognized  on  the  instant.  He  leaped  hi  among 
his  people  joyfully. 

Then  arose  such  yells  and  shrieks  as  made  the 
very  woodland  quiver!  There  was  a  rush  for 
cabins  whose  doors  were  closed  and  barred  with- 
in a  minute's  space.  The  very  dogs,  yelping 
with  every  leap,  fled  to  the  forest.  Even  they 
were  appalled  and  recognized  but  as  a  spectre 


26  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  missing  Keeshamok.  Within  the  Indian 
village  all  was  frightful  silence. 

With  bowed  head  stood  the  striped  wooden 
Indian  hi  the  midst  of  the  cabins.  Then  he 
turned  his  face  toward  the  south  and  the  silent 
run  began  again.  In  the  morning  he  stood  once 
more  upon  his  pedestal  hi  front  of  Lipsky's 
barber  shop. 

How  can  it  be  accounted  for?  What  psy- 
chologist or  scientist  can  explain  it?  The  spirit 
of  Keeshamok  lacks,  of  course,  the  usual  form 
in  which  to  reappear  and  do  any  haunting  any- 
where, for  good  or  evil,  since  his  body  was  con- 
sumed entirely.  Does  it  seek  the  marvelous 
imitation  made  by  Shornstein  as  the  only  sub- 
stitute? Who,  indeed,  shall  say?  There  are 
many  things  unknown  to  us. 

And  still,  each  night,  the  striped  Indian  runs 
his  futile  race  and  makes  his  sad  return. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE 

Daybreak  of  the  second  day  of  imprisonment 
brought  no  renewal  of  the  storm,  though  the  sun 
was  hidden  and  the  clouds  were  dark  and  lower- 
ing. But  the  morning  was  to  have  its  tragedy. 

The  storekeeper  who  had  got  on  at  the  station 
five  miles  back  seemed  half  demented.  He  had 
chafed  and  grumbled  loudly  from  the  first, 
asserting  that  his  business  would  be  ruined 
without  his  immediate  presence  and  attention, 
and  heaping  imprecations  upon  the  weather  and 
the  railroad  company  alike.  Patience  or  phi- 
losophy seemed  entirely  lacking  hi  his  character. 
All  through  the  first  day  of  detention  he  had 
paced  restlessly  back  and  forth  throughout  the 
train,  a  walking  expletive,  and  now  he  had  be- 
come furious. 

"I  must  get  home,"  he  shouted;  "I  live  only 
five  miles  down  the  track  and  I'm  going  to  walk 
it.  I  know  these  blizzards,  and  I'm  bigger  than 
any  of  'em !  I  can  make  it !"  and  he  would  have 
leaped  from  the  train  at  once  had  not  strong 


27 


28  THE  CASSOWARY 

hands  restrained  him.  He  went  forward  mut- 
teringly. 

The  stillness  of  all  the  world  about  had  some- 
thing to  it  sinister  and  threatening.  It  was  like 
the  silence  of  a  graveyard.  "I'd  rather  have 
that  storm  howling  again,  and  howling  worse 
than  ever,"  said  one  of  the  passengers,  "than 
endure  this  ghastly  quiet.  It's  altogether  too 
quiet.  Something  is  going  to  happen!" 

He  was  right.  Something  was  going  to  hap- 
pen. The  dark  clouds  were  sinking  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  earth,  and  at  last  there  came  a 
sound,  the  faintest  of  sighs,  of  the  coming  wind. 
It  deepened  steadily  until  it  became  more  than 
a  sigh;  it  was  a  moan.  It  increased  in  volume. 
The  moan  became  a  shriek,  the  shriek  a  mighty 
roar,  and  the  blizzard,  with  its  snowfall,  was 
raging  about  the  pass  again. 

The  passengers  crowded  together  at  the  win- 
dows and  a  few  of  the  more  hardy  even  ventured 
out  upon  the  platforms  to  enjoy,  or  to  become 
apprehensive  over,  the  mighty  spectacle. 

They  were  thus  engaged  when  there  came 
rushing  excitedly  into  the  car  the  pert  youth 
who  had  told  the  remarkable  Indian  story  the 
night  before. 

"The Storekeeper!"  heexclaimed.  "The Store- 


"THE  STOREKEEPER!"  HE  EXCLAIMED 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  29 

keeper  is  missing!  He  must  have  left  the 
train!" 

There  was  aroused  a  sudden  and  alarmed 
interest,  followed  by  a  hurrying  of  men -to  the 
different  platforms,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen.  The  man  must  have  slipped  from  the 
train,  unobserved,  before  the  recurrence  of  the 
storm  and  made  the  desperate  attempt  to 
reach  his  home  by  the  exercise  of  sheer  bull- 
dog tenacity  and  brute  force,  in  struggling 
through  the  enormous  drifts.  Stafford,  accom- 
panied by  two  of  the  trainmen,  made  a  brief 
but  arduous  and  difficult  search  for  some  dis- 
tance, but  found  slight  trace  of  the  missing 
passenger.  Close  beside  the  train  they  dis- 
covered where  he  had  leaped  off  and  staggered 
uncertainly  forward,  but  beyond  that  there  was 
no  sign.  The  snow  had  already  hidden  the  reck- 
less being's  trail. 

There  was  a  sequel,  long  in  coming.  Late  in 
the  following  spring,  when  the  looming  drifts 
of  the  pass  had  melted,  the  mortal  part  of  the 
Storekeeper  was  found  some  distance  from  the 
track,  where  he  had  stumbled  blindly  in  his 
wanderings.  But  of  his  fate  there  could,  of 
course,  at  this  time,  be  no  certain  knowledge. 
There  was  even  a  chance,  some  thought,  that 


30  THE  CASSOWARY 

he  might  accomplish  the  seemingly  impossible. 
The  men  muttered  to  each  other,  and  that 
was  all.  Why  the  Storekeeper,  apparently 
one  possessed  of  shrewdness  at  least,  should 
have  taken  such  awful  risk  no  one  could  say — 
but  it  made  swift  tragedy. 

Communication  had  been  maintained  with 
Belden.  A  path  to  the  telegraph  pole  utilized 
by  Stafford  on  the  night  of  the  stoppage  had 
been  laboriously  dug  by  the  trainmen  and 
Stafford  had  again  made  the  connection  and 
learned  the  condition  of  affairs  with  the  rescuing 
party  already  started.  The  report  was  not 
altogether  encouraging.  The  vast  fall  of  snow 
in  the  canyon,  drifted,  in  some  places,  higher 
than  the  top  of  the  smokestack  of  the  loco- 
motive— for  this  was  the  greatest  blockade  in 
the  history  of  the  road — had  proved  more  than 
baffling,  even  with  the  snow-plow.  Scores  of 
men  were  at  work  ahead  of  it  with  shovels,  in 
the  work  of  bringing  the  clearance  within  the 
range  of  its  capability.  The  relief  train  was 
yet  many  miles  from  the  one  entirely  helpless. 
Still  the  snow  would  not  be  so  deep  at  points 
ahead,  where  the  canyon  widened,  and  the 
belief  of  the  rescuers  was  that  the  half-entombed 
would  be  reached  at  some  hour  of  the  fourth 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  31 

day  of  their  detention.  The  news  was  not 
received  with  any  degree  of  exultation. 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  Moses  appeared  to 
lead  those  in  the  Cassowary  and  their  visitors 
out  of  the  gloom  oppressing  them. 

When  men  and  women  of  intelligence  and 
brightness  and  modern  perception  are  cast 
together  in  an  emergency,  there  ever  appears 
among  them  some  one  who  brings  the  group 
close  together.  He  may  not  be  the  greatest  of 
the  group,  but  he  has  some  dominant  instinct 
in  him  involving  a  regard  for  the  comfort  of 
others.  Such  a  man  was  Colonel  Livingston. 

The  Colonel  was  a  man  of  thought,  and  he 
wanted  his  own  sort  of  people  around  him.  He 
had  raised  a  regiment  once,  when  fierce  things 
were  going  on  in  the  "60's,"  and  he  knew  how 
to  gather  men.  He  had  ranged  through  the 
train,  like  some  good-naturedly  overbearing 
Lord  High  Commissioner  selecting  those  whose 
appearance  most  appealed  to  him  and,  because 
of  his  keen  acumen  and  genial  approachment, 
had  captured  easily  and  brought  into  the 
Cassowary  those  whom  he  thought  would  swing 
best  into  being  a  healthful  and  merry  part  of 
the  fraction  of  humanity  enduring  temporary 
distress.  He  had  an  idea. 


32  THE  CASSOWARY 

The  occupants  of  the  Cassowary  included  a 
number  of  the  more  than  ordinarily  intelligent 
and  cultivated — as  would  naturally  be  the  case 
in  such  a  car  and  on  such  an  extended  trip — and 
all  had,  by  this  time,  become  more  or  less 
acquainted,  though  all  had  not,  like  the  Colonel, 
acquired  the  fancy  of  addressing  others  by  the 
title  of  their  occupation.  It  was  to  such  a 
group  as  this  that  the  Colonel,  standing  at  one 
end  of  the  car,  addressed  himself : 

"I'm  afraid  that  we  are  flunking  a  little.  I 
know — I  feel  it  in  my  bones — that  we  are  going 
to  escape  from  this  cold  dilemma  without  any 
serious  consequence,  but  we  shall  not  be  a 
credit  to  ourselves  if  we  falter  in  the  interval. 
Let  us  avoid  depression.  Let  us  enliven  the 
situation  as  much  as  possible.  To  such  end 
I  have  a  suggestion  to  make  in  this  connection 
which,  I  hope,  may  be  well  received.  Last 
night  I  was  much  interested  in  a  story  told  by 
the  buoyant  and  blithesome  young  gentleman 
occupying  the  end  seat  on  the  left  side  there" — 
and  he  indicated  the  "Gallus  Youth" — "and 
it  has  come  to  my  mind  since  that  we  may 
greatly  relieve  the  monotony  of  our  case  by 
doing  what  we  do  in  the  smoking  compartment, 
that  is,  by  telling  stories.  If  you  consent,  I 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  33 

will  modestly  offer  myself  as  a  sort  of  master 
of  ceremonies.  Does  the  idea  meet  with  any 
degree  of  approval?" 

There  was  no  dissent,  but,  instead,  a  hearty 
agreement  to  the  proposition,  the  Colonel's 
cheery  manner  having  its  effect  on  everybody. 
For  a  time,  though,  the  story-telling  did  not 
begin. 

There  was  need,  certainly,  for  any  and  all 
suggestions  as  to  means  for  ameliorating  in 
any  degree  a  situation  the  grimness  of  which 
was  beginning  to  force  itself  upon  even  the 
most  optimistic  of  the  company.  The  wind, 
even  when  it  lowered  its  tone  for  a  moment, 
growled  ominously. 

"It  is  awful/'  moaned  the  woman  with  the 
baby.  "I  wonder  how  God  can  let  such  things 
happen.  I  wonder  if  praying  would  help?" 

Then  followed — it  could  hardly  be  otherwise 
with  such  a  company — reverent  but  earnest  dis- 
cussion of  the  question  of  whether  or  not  Provi- 
dence ever  really  intervened  in  special  cases,  as 
a  result  of  special  supplication.  Varying  opin- 
ions were  expressed,  the  majority,  even  the 
most  seemingly  devout,  inclining  to  the  belief 
that  the  answer  to  the  question  was  beyond 
the  knowledge  accorded  to  humanity.  It  was 


34  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  Colonel's  opportunity.  He  appealed  to  the 
Minister,  who  had  listened  to  the  discussion 
with  a  thoughtful  smile  upon  his  kindly  face, 
but  who  had  not  given  an  opinion. 

"Do  you  believe  in  special  providences,  sir?" 
he  asked.  "Can  you  relate  a  single  instance 
hi  your  experience,  or  one  of  which  you  have 
heard,  from  a  reliable  source,  where  there  has 
been  the  manifestation  of  what  we  call  'a 
special  providence,'  in  direct  answer  to  prayer?" 

"I  cannot  answer  your  question,"  was  the 
Minister's  reply.  "I  cannot  answer  the  first 
part  of  the  query,  because  I  am  undecided,  and 
I  cannot  answer  the  second  because  the  same 
reasoning  would,  in  a  way,  apply,  since  I  am 
not  entirely  assured  of  certain  earthly  facts. 
But,"  and  there  was  a  twinkle  in  the  reverend 
gentleman's  eyes,  "I  heard  a  curious  story  once, 
for  the  exact  truth  of  which  I  will  by  no  means 
vouch,  which  I  will  tell  in  the  narrator's  own 
words,  and  which,  supposing  it  to  be  true,  might 
be  looked  upon  as  either  for  or  against  the 
doctrine  of 

A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE 

Just  who  are  the  "salt  of  the  earth"  is  a 
disputable  question.  The  title  belongs  tradi- 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  35 

tionally  to  a  group  of  that  splendid  race — the 
Jews.  But  it  is  claimed,  also,  and  on  seemingly 
excellent  grounds,  by  other  groups,  including 
a  large  number  of  the  people  of  Iowa.  Appear- 
ances are  in  their  favor,  for  Iowa  was  settled 
by  a  fine  lot  of  men  and  women,  and  their 
children  have  not  deteriorated. 

They  were  excellent  pioneers  who  came  to 
cross  the  great  river  and  make  a  new  State,  to 
cut  away  the  forest  where  it  was  too  dense,  to 
plant  trees  where  the  prairie-planted  farm- 
houses and  barns  needed  shelter  from  wintry 
blasts,  to  import  cattle,  and  horses,  and  sheep, 
and  hogs  with  blood  in  them,  and  to  repeat  the 
old  exploit  of  the  dominating  race  in  making, 
somewhere,  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose. 
About  what  is  Maxonville  alighted  one  of  the 
groups  of  men  and  women,  settling  down  like 
wild  geese  upon  an  area  of  fertile  and  well- 
watered  land.  Maxonville  was  not  much  in 
evidence  when  they  came,  these  strong  men 
and  women,  for  only  "Old  Man*'  Maxon  was 
living  at  the  forks  where  the  big  creek  found  the 
little  river;  but  they  all  settled  about,  and 
there  were  built  new  homes  close  to  Maxon's, 
and  there  came,  as  the  years  passed,  a  church, 
and  a  schoolhouse,  and  a  grocery  and  dry  goods 


36  THE  CASSOWARY 

store,  and,  in  time,  the  prosperous  town.  The 
farmers  round  about  prospered,  for  they  had 
thrift  and  intelligence  and  something  of  the 
old  Covenanters'  spirit. 

The  church  Maxonville  built,  offhand  and 
ready  for  all  its  uses  before  they  had  a  preacher, 
was  a  pride  to  the  sturdy  men  and  believing 
women,  and  when  the  preacher  came  to  them 
from  the  East  they  were  more  satisfied  than 
ever. 

There  may  be  something  in  lonely  farm  work 
making  one  a  grim  adherent  of  straight  creed. 
Down  behind  horses  and  plow  all  day  long,  with 
only  the  great  blue  sky  of  God  above,  and  only 
a  view  of  the  same  sky  meeting  a  green  horizon 
far  away  and  all  around;  inclosed  in  this  great 
vault  of  blue  and  green,  and  left  alone  with 
one's  thoughts,  it  may  be  that  the  eternal  prob- 
lem becomes  more  earnestly  considered,  more 
a  part  of  all  the  thought  and  life  of  a  human 
being  than  it  is  to  the  man  of  the  city,  who  has 
his  attention  distracted  every  moment  from 
the  great,  overwhelming  presence  and  pressure. 
Such  effects  crystallize.  The  people  of  Maxon- 
ville and  its  vicinity  were  sternly  devout — that 
is,  most  of  them — and  their  new  minister  was  a 
fit  exponent  of  their  creed. 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  37 

The  minister  was  tall,  dark-haired,  clean- 
shaven, and  with  brown  eyes  which  were  keen, 
chiefly,  in  looking  into  himself.  He  had  a  stern, 
well-defined  mission  in  religious  teaching — as 
earnest  as  Ignatius  Loyola,  stubborn  as  Oliver 
Cromwell.  He  had  been  through  college,  and 
then  through  one  of  the  strictest  of  theological 
schools.  He  was  fit  to  preach,  he  felt,  as  far 
as  mere  acquirement  of  having  learned  the  ways 
of  other  preachers;  but  he  knew  that  the  ideas 
of  the  world  were  changing,  and  that  if  the  world 
were  changing  God  must  be  doing  it,  and  so  he 
was  at  times  perplexed.  But  he  came  to  his 
little  land  of  prairie  flowers,  and  steer-raising, 
and  honest  obstinacy,  a  fit  man  for  the  place. 
And  they  said  they  had  a  preacher ! 

It  is  doubtful  if  any  village  of  three  hundred 
people  in  the  United  States,  from  Montpelier 
to  San  Diego,  from  Portland  to  St.  John,  has 
not  one  pretty  girl  or  more.  Maxonville  had 
a  number  of  pretty  girls,  and  one  of  them  was 
more  than  pretty ;  she  was  beautiful. 

Deacon  Conant  was  the  leading  man  of  the 
church  of  the  new  town.  He  was  a  man  who 
had  succeeded,  because  of  brains  and  energy, 
in  managing  his  two  or  three  farms,  but  he 
does  not  figure  in  this  account  save  that  he 


38  THE  CASSOWARY 

was  the  latner  of  Jane  Conant.  His  blood  had 
gone  into  her,  and  it  was  pretty  good  blood, 
too.  The  preacher  had  fallen  in  love  with  her 
and  she  with  him.  Preachers  and  girls  would 
not  be  good  for  much  if  they  did  not  do  that 
sort  of  thing  occasionally. 

Here  was  an  ideal  relation  of  things,  or  what 
should  have  been  an  ideal  one.  What  could 
have  been  finer  than  that  there  should  have 
come  into  a  growing  town  in  a  growing  region 
a  stalwart,  almost  fanatical  builder-up  of  faith, 
who  should  find  a  fitting  partner  in  the  daughter 
of  the  chief  man  of  the  locality,  and  that  from 
the  union  so  buttressed  all  around  should  come 
great  results?  There  was  but  one  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  this  perfect  combination,  and  the 
obstacle  was  in  the  woman.  It  is  astonishing 
how  women  will  nibble  at  apples  and  learn 
things,  from  Eve  down !  This  particular  young 
woman  had  graduated  from  one  of  the  most 
cleverly  conducted  of  Eastern  colleges  for  girls, 
and  she  had  views.  Not  only  did  she  have 
views,  but  she  had  views  in  the  face  of  her 
religious  teacher,  of  the  man  whom  she  respected 
for  his  earnestness  and  loved  for  himself.  They 
were  intensely  happy  for  a  while  after  their 
engagement — as  becomes  strong  souls  getting 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  39 

close  together  in  such  relationship — but  with 
nearer  relationship  came  necessarily  more  vehe- 
ment and  unguarded  interchange  of  thought, 
and — sad  the  day! — they  differed  seriously, 
upon  a  matter  of  belief. 

A  part  of  the  belief  of  John  Elwell,  the 
preacher,  was  an  implicit  confidence  hi  the 
manifestation  at  times  of  what  we  call  a  "special 
providence."  One  of  the  ideas  of  the  young 
woman,  deeply  religious  though  she  was,  was 
an  utter  disbelief  in  this  same  thing — that  is, 
a  disbelief  that  God  sometimes  makes  an  excep- 
tion, and,  instead  of  working  through  the  laws 
of  the  Nature  which  He  has  instituted,  produces 
a  direct  result  having  the  quality  of  what  we 
are  accustomed  to  call  a  miracle. 

The  two  discussed  the  matter  together  very 
often  after  they  came  close  together,  as  lovers 
may.  The  first  time  they  debated  there  came 
a  little  wedge  between  them  as  thin  as  tissue 
paper  abraded  to  an  end.  Next  time  the  wedge 
grew  larger,  and  where  it  ended  there  was  a 
cleft  reaching  down  to  anywhere.  The  third 
time  there  was  a  split  broad  and  well  defined, 
and  the  engagement  was  broken. 

"My  dear,  I  do  believe  in  special  providences; 
I  do  believe  that  earnest  prayer  will  bring 


40  THE  CASSOWARY 

results  in  certain  cases,  justifiable  in  them- 
selves." 

"I  do  not." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  believe  that  the  whole  thing — 
and  I  am  only  a  girl  talking,  I  don't  know  what 
you  call  it — is  just  a  belief  and  taken  on  trust. 
What  would  you  think  of  going  down  to  the 
mill  there  and  praying  the  miller  to  make  one 
bag  of  flour  coarse  in  the  midst  of  all  his  busi- 
ness? The  miller  is  giving  us  bread  for  our 
physical  life,  and  he  knows  best  how  to  do  it, 
at  least  as  compared  with  the  rest  of  us.  I 
know  that  this  is  all  a  poor  simile,  a  poor  com- 
parison, but  I  can't  help  it." 

Now,  even  an  earnest  preacher  is  human, 
and  a  great  many  girls — though  the  healthy 
among  us  call  them  angels — are  human.  The 
engagement  between  the  two  was  at  this 
juncture  broken  off  so  squarely  that  the  ends 
weren't  even  ragged,  though  there  was  left 
a  possible  sequence,  not  altogether  black  as 
midnight — a  vague  hope  in  the  heart  of  each 
that  the  future  might  have  something  to  it. 
This  brought  a  few  words  more  before. they 
parted. 

Said  the  girl:  "Show  me  a  case  of  special 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  41 

providence  and  I  will  believe  with  you.  It 
must  be — it  cannot  possibly  be  otherwise — 
than  that  there  should  in  some  way,  somehow, 
come  an  opportunity  for  showing  that  you 
are  right  and  I  wrong." 

The  pale-faced  man's  eyes  were  burning 
as  he  looked  at  her. 

"The  day  will  come!"  he  said. 

Time  passed  and  the  two  worked  together 
in  social  and  church  relations,  but  there  was 
no  more  talk  of  marriage.  It  was  one  day  in 
mid-July,  a  year  after  the  conversation  just 
described,  when  John  Elwell  was  talking  earn- 
estly from  his  pulpit,  and  Jane  Conant  was 
one  of  the  congregation. 

The  preacher  talked  well  that  day — there 
is  no  denying  it.  He  talked  in  a  simple,  straight- 
forward but  wonderfully  eloquent  way  of  how 
the  quality  of  one's  relation  to  others  in  this 
world  must  make  easy  or  uneasy  the  path 
toward  what  is  the  better  habitation  after 
death.  He  told  of  the  duties  of  the  success- 
ful to  the  unsuccessful,  of  the  strong  to  the 
weak;  and  he  told  too,  of  how,  even  in  this 
world,  each  man's  mind  is  accuser  or  justi- 
fier,  and  how,  even  in  this  world,  come  re- 
wards and  punishments,  and  how  to  him  with 


42  THE  CASSOWARY 

faith  enough  should  come  immediate  returns. 
With  glowing  face  he  even  went  aside  a  little 
to  speak  of  those  who  talk  too  much  of  Nature 
and  the  Universe,  and  who  believe  that  a 
general  scheme  is  as  true  and  strong  and 
believable  as  one  more  definite — "  'He  noteth 
the  sparrow's  fall/  '  he  said. 

It  was  sultry  within  the  church,  and  all 
seemed  lifeless,  though  hearts  were  beating 
rapidly  under  the  preacher's  eloquence.  There 
seemed  no  oxygen  in  the  air;  all  was  oppres- 
sive. There  was  no  sound  as  the  speaker  closed 
a  long  and  telling  sentence,  save  the  slight 
"swish"  as  a  locust  alighted  on  the  sill  of  an  open 
window.  There  was  sound  enough  a  moment 
later. 

Through  the  open  doorway  leaped  a  young 
man  who  shouted  but  one  word: 

"Cyclone!" 

At  the  exclamation  breaking  hi  thus  on  the 
religious  stillness  perhaps  one-fourth  of  the 
congregation  started  to  their  feet  and  rushed 
into  the  open  air,  but  the  three-fourths  re- 
mained in  their  seats  as  if  paralyzed.  The 
preacher  paused,  looked  about,  and  then  with 
almost  shining  face  spoke  solemnly: 

"My  friends,  we  are  threatened  with  one  of 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  43 

the  visitations  which  God  sometimes  decrees, 
but  which,  it  is  my  earnest  belief,  cannot  harm 
those  who  believe  in  Him  rightly  and  appeal 
to  Him  most  trustingly.  Let  us  pray  that  the 
cyclone  will  avoid  this  church." 

They  knelt  together,  preacher  and  congre- 
gation, and  strong  and  trustful  and  appealing 
was  the  pastor's  prayer.  His  clear  voice  did 
not  falter  in  the  eloquent  appeal,  and  those  who 
knelt  felt  confidence  and  a  glorified  pride  in 
the  attitude  taken  in  an  awful  hour.  Men 
came  rushing  to  the  doorway  crying  aloud  upon 
all  within  to  make  the  attempt  at  escape  to  a 
safer  place,  but  there  was  no  response,  no  sound 
save  that  of  the  preacher's  uplifted  voice.  There 
was  a  roar  and  rumble  hi  the  far  southwest  and 
a  half  darkness  was  approaching.  As  the  sound 
outside  increased,  the  voice  of  the  preacher  be- 
came less  audible,  but  the  spellbound  and  trust- 
ing congregation  did  not  move.  Among  the 
women  was  still  Jane  Conant. 

The  rumble  became  a  roar,  the  roar  an  ear- 
splitting,  paralyzing  blast,  and  then — chaos !  In 
blackness,  with  its  steeple,  its  roof,  its  whole 
upper  part  torn  away  and  leaving  but  an  un- 
covered brick  rectangle,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  in 
height,  remained  what  was  of  the  church  in 


44  THE  CASSOWARY 

Maxonville.  With  the  blackness  came  a  tor- 
rent; the  interior  of  the  rectangle  became  a 
flooded  space,  within  which  area  men  and  women 
waded,  and  floundered  and  shouted,  and  shriek- 
ed, and  felt  for  each  other,  and  feared,  almost, 
that  the  world  was  ended.  Then  gradually, 
the  flood  ceased,  and  daylight  came  again,  and 
the  drenched  creatures  within  what  was  left 
of  the  church — by  what  seemed  a  miracle  there 
had  been  none  injured — emerged  upon  the 
greenery  about.  Among  them  was  the  preacher. 
He  spoke  to  no  one.  He  had  worn  a  straw 
hat  when  he  came  to  the  church,  and  had 
found  it  somehow.  It  had  been  wetted  and 
crushed,  and  now  hung  down  on  each  side  of 
his  head  grotesquely.  He  was  a  sodden,  queer 
creature  who  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left.  But  there  was  thought  in  him  still. 
He  lifted  his  face  to  Heaven,  and  thanked  God 
that  all  had  been  preserved,  but  said  no  other 
word.  He  walked  drippingly  along  the  side- 
walk and  then  turned  down  a  lane  which  led 
into  the  country. 

Barely  one-fourth  of  a  mile — estimated  con- 
ventionally as  the  crow  flies — from  the  town  of 
Maxonville  was  the  farm  of  John  Dent.  It 
was  not  a  large  farm;  it  was,  in  fact,  but  a 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  45 

quarter  of  a  quarter-section,  which  means  forty 
acres;  but  acres  have  nothing  to  do  with  ideas. 
John  Dent,  though  he  had  only  a  little  farm, 
worked  hard  and  lived  reasonably  well,  and 
had  a  standing,  and  knew  the  preacher  well, 
and  debated  one  important  question  with  him 
frequently.  It  was  this  same  question  of  special 
providence,  and  the  attitude  of  John  Dent  was, 
though  in  a  man's  way,  identical  with  that  of 
Jane  Conant,  the  preacher's  lost  sweetheart. 
The  preacher  wondered  at  this  sometimes.  He 
wondered  how  it  was  that  this  gifted  girl  and 
this  obstinate,  deep-thinking  farmer  should  so 
chance  to  decide  alike.  Of  course  all  this  was 
before  the  cyclone. 

Down  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  John  Dent 
was  a  little  sentimental.  His  father  and  mother 
had  come  to  the  small  farm  before  him.  They 
were  dead  now,  as  well  as  certain  sisters  and 
brothers,  and  they  were  buried  in  a  little  pri- 
vate graveyard  on  the  farm,  around  which  the 
beeches  grew  thickly  and  from  which  the 
ground  sloped  gently  into  a  laughing  creek. 
There  was  not  much  surplus  left  at  the  end  of 
each  year  of  the  product  of  John  Dent's  farm- 
ing, and  the  surplus  had  more  channels  for  im- 
mediate and  demanding  distribution  than  it 


46  THE  CASSOWARY 

could  supply,  still  John  D.ent  thought  that 
some  day  he  would  put  up  a  neat  little  brick 
monument  in  that  graveyard — a  somewhat 
unusual  form  of  monument — but  that  was  Dent's 
idea.  He  was  going  to  have  a  pyramidical 
thing  about  fifty  feet  high.  The  spire  of  the 
church  at  Maxonville  was  of  brick,  hollow  of 
course,  welded  solidly  in  its  weather-hardened 
cement,  as  if  it  were  a  monolith  of  stone. 

The  cyclone  had  passed.  A  preacher  had 
gone  down  a  lane  thinking  the  thoughts  which 
come  to  a  clean  Christian  man  in  a  surprising 
and  dispiriting  emergency.  A  fair  young  wom- 
an had  gone  home  crying  over  what  was  where 
her  heart  was,  and  Mr.  John  Dent  had  seen  a 
cyclone  come  and  miss  his  place  by  about  forty 
rods,  and  had  also  seen  an  out-flinging  and 
eccentric  whig  of  that  same  cyclone  deposit, 
just  hi  the  proper  place  hi  the  burying-ground 
of  his  family,  a  perfect  pyramid  monument, 
such  as  he  had  been  dreaming  of  for  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century.  It  was  all  queer  and 
out  of  the  common,  and  was  hard  to  explain; 
it  is  not  attempted  here,  for  this  is  only  the 
story  of  what  happened  within  an  hour  or  two 
on  a  certain  afternoon  in  Iowa. 

This  is  going  back    to  the    preacher.     He 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  47 

walked  fast  and  he  walked  far,  and  found  him- 
self deep  in  the  country.  He  was  at  least  hon- 
est in  all  he  thought ;  he  was  a  good  man,  yet  he 
was  troubled  to  the  depths  of  his  being.  "I 
have  prayed  to  God,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
He  has  refused  me.  The  cyclone  didn't  turn 
away  from  the  church  !  Is  the  woman  I  love 
right,  and  am  I  wrong?  Is  there  a  broader  and 
greater  scheme  of  being  wherein  I  should  be  a 
trusting  and  unquestioning  instrument  rather 
than  one  who  demands  as  a  special  suppliant? 
I  will  see  Jane, "  he  said  in  his  great  strait.  "I 
feel  that  she  may  aid  me." 

He  met  the  woman  that  night;  he  went  to 
her  house  and  found  her  there,  and  found,  too, 
that  as  she  was,  being  a  dear  woman,  she  had 
just  then  but  vague  views  either  on  special 
providences  or  anything  else  in  particular, 
all  being  absorbed  in  anxiety  as  to  his  own 
health  and  welfare.  She  was  but  a  loving, 
frightened  creature,  harried  over  what  might 
have  happened  to  the  man  who  through  all 
the  months  of  silence  and  separation  had  been 
all  there  was  in  the  world  to  her.  He  had  come 
half  intending  to  admit  himself  all  in  error, 
but  soon  all  had  been  lost  in  the  mere  perform- 
ance of  a  man  and  a  woman  blending.  And 


48  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  evening  passed.  Then  when  the  next  day 
came,  the  two,  now  understanding,  walked  out 
into  the  country. 

It  was  in  that  wonderful  hour  of  the  summer 
sunset,  when  all  the  world  is  filled  with  light 
and  the  heavens  are  tinted  with  opalescent 
colors  from  an  unseen  source,  and  some  vagrant 
vesper  sparrow  is  still  singing,  that  John  Elwell 
and  Jane  Conant  stood  in  John  Dent's  little 
family  graveyard,  looking  soberly  at  the  trans- 
planted church  steeple.  It  stood  there,  its  base 
ranged  plumb  east  and  west,  north  and  south, 
as  if  calculated  with  all  the  niceties  of  the 
Ancient  Order;  at  its  foot  the  quiet  grass- 
grown  graves,  while  all  around  stretched  clover 
meadows  and  the  cornfields. 

"I  feel  like  borrowing  a  phrase  from  the 
Mohammedans,"  said  the  minister,  "or  just 
the  beginning  of  one,  then  saying  no  more: 
'God  is  great!'  " 

The  girl's  summer  bonnet  hung  back  over 
her  shoulders,  its  pink  strings  loosely  tied 
under  her  chin.  She  looked  comprehendingly 
at  the  minister,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"I  have  been  narrow,"  continued  the  min- 
ister, "but  God  is  great." 

Coming   across    the   clover   field    they   saw 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  49 

John  Dent,  and  the  two  went  to  the  white 
picket  fence  around  the  graveyard,  which  he 
had  built  and  cared  for,  and  stood  at  its  little 
gate  to  meet  him. 

"Mr.  Dent,"  said  the  minister,  when  he  had 
shaken  the  farmer's  hand,  and  as  they  all 
turned  to  look  at  the  steeple  top,  "I  have  had 
a  lesson,  and  I  must  acknowledge  that  it  was 
needed.  Our  vision  is  limited,  and  we  often 
know  not  even  how  to  pray!  I  am  content  to 
leave  all  to  God,  nor  to  wrestle  for  His  special 
interposition  hi  my  behalf.  The  doctrine  of 
special  providences  is  presuming — of  the  earth, 
earthy.  I  see  that  now." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  John  Dent; 
"I  didn't  exactly  pray  for  it,  but  I've  always 
wanted  a  monument  to  my  folks  here.  Some- 
times I  thought  it  was  vain  and  worldly  minded 
in  me,  but  I  couldn't  give  it  up.  I  wanted 
that  monument  just  about  as  high  as  the  end 
of  the  steeple  stands,  just  about  that  shape, 
too,  more  than  anything  in  this  world.  I 
couldn't  see  my  way  clear  to  getting  it.  I 
couldn't  afford  to  build  one — and  here  it  is! 
I  don't  know  as  I  quite  agree  with  you  now 
parson,  concerning  special  providences!" 

It  was   just   before   the   conclusion   of  the 


50  THE  CASSOWARY 

Minister's  story  that  a  lady  entered  quietly 
from  the  next  sleeping  car  and  was  welcomed 
to  the  coterie  by  two  or  three  of  the  ladies, 
who  had,  evidently,  met  her.  Stafford  looked 
in  her  direction  and  their  eyes  met.  Then,  all 
the  world  changed! 

They  knew  each  other  on  the  instant,  but 
beyond  the  slightest  of  inclinations  of  their 
heads,  there  was  no  sign  of  recognition.  There 
was  no  smile.  There  was  but  an  almost  startled 
look  which  changed  into  one  of  comprehension 
and  then  of  the  ready  trust  which  was  of  the 
past.  What  message  that  lingering  mutual 
glance  conveyed  neither  could  have  told  en- 
tirely— it  was  doubtful,  hopeful,  appealing, 
understanding. 

As  the  minister  ceased  talking,  and  com- 
ment began,  Stafford  rose  and  made  his  way 
toward  the  new  arrival.  He  had  but  neared 
her  when  Mrs.  Livingston  took  him  by  the  arm: 

"Have  you  met  Mrs.  Eversham  yet,  Mr. 
Stafford?" 

They  clasped  hands,  and  his  head  swam,  it 
seemed  to  him:  "I  did  not  know  that  you  were 
on  the  train,"  he  said. 

"I  have  been  slightly  ill,"  she  answered 
gently,  "and  have  been  confined  to  my  state- 


A  SPECIAL  PROVIDENCE  51 

room  most  of  the  time  since  leaving  San  Fran- 
cisco, but  I  am  well  again.  It  is  good  to  be 
out." 

Then  their  attention  was  demanded  by  others 
and  they  were  separated.  But,  what  a  flavor 
to  the  world  now! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   FAR  AWAY  LADY 

They  called  her  the  "Far  Away  Lady"- 
those  on  the  train  who  had  already  met  her. 
Just  why  the  name  was  bestowed  by  some 
one  with  imagination  and  aptness  of  expres- 
sion or  why  it  had  been  so  readily  adopted  by 
the  others,  perhaps  none  could  have  clearly 
told,  but  it  had  its  fitness.  There  was  a  certain 
soft  dignity  and  reserve  of  manner  and  a  "far 
away"  look  in  the  eyes  of  this  stately,  but 
certainly  loveable  human  being.  She  possessed 
the  subtle  distinction  there  is  to  women  of 
a  certain  sort,  impressing  those  about  her  hi 
spite  of  themselves,  as  years  before,  she  had 
impressed  John  Stafford.  As  has  been  told  he 
knew  her  on  the  moment,  yet  in  their  words 
was  nothing,  and,  even  as  they  met,  they  had 
not  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  unless,  it 
may  be,  with  a  hungering  furtiveness  and  a 
dizziness  at  the  marvel  of  the  meeting. 

It  is  hard  to  describe  the  Far  Away  Lady. 
Her  face  was  exquisite  in  its  pure  womanli- 


THE  FAR  AWAY  LADY  53 

ness,  but  in  its  expression  was  something 
which  told  of  a  life  unfilled.  It  was  not  a  pro- 
test; it  was  too  good  for  that,  but  it  seemed  to 
suggest  with  this  woman  a  bewildered  resig- 
nation. The  face  was  one  which,  in  other  times, 
might,  before  the  end,  have  been  turned  toward 
and  found  the  cloister.  Yet  there  was  all  of 
modern  living  and  appreciative  conception  hi  it. 
A  smile  came  to  the  lips  at  certain  incidents  of 
the  story-telling,  and  interest  showed  in  the 
soft  eyes  at  the  relation  of  some  striking  epi- 
sode. There  was  intelligence  as  there  was  sad 
sweetness  in  every  feature  of  the  lovely  face. 
Yet  there  remained  always  in  the  look  that 
quality,  not  of  listlessness,  but  of  abstraction. 
It  was  a  face  as  fascinating  as  it  was  appealing. 

In  her  own  stateroom  the  Far  Away  Lady 
sat  at  her  window,  but  seeing  no  whirling  snow, 
hearing  not  the  plaint  of  the  dying  wind. 
She  was  detained  in  no  cold  and  rugged  canyon. 
Her  thoughts  were  far  away. 

About  her  was  no  scene  of  pallid  desolation. 
She  looked  instead,  upon  the  blue  waters  of 
a  great  calm  lake,  the  wavelets  of  which  splashed 
at  her  feet,  while  about  her  all  was  sunshine. 
Seated  beside  her  on  the  rustic  bench  was  a 
man,  one  strong,  tender  and  trustworthy,  and 


54  THE  CASSOWARY 

they  were  about  to  part,  as  they  thought,  for- 
ever. Very  sad  was  the  man,  almost  a  weak- 
ling for  the  moment,  though  talking  lightly  in 
an  effort  to  distract  her  mind  from  what  was 
near,  blundering  and  only  nurturing  their 
mutual  sorrow,  by  indulging  in  foolish  fancies 
of  what  might  have  been. 

He  was  smiling  by  force  of  will  as  he  looked 
across  the  waters  toward  the  invisible  other 
shore  and  dreaming  aloud : 

"We  would  build  a  house  upon  some  high 
wooded  out- jut  ting  point  upon  the  other  side," 
he  said,  "a  house,  it  might  be,  most  unpreten- 
tious, as  near  the  southern  end  of  the  lake  as 
practicable,  so  that  we  would  be  conveniently 
near  the  city.  It  might  be  of  almost  any  mate- 
rial and  be  a  sort  of  bungalow  or  even  only  what 
they  call  a  "shack,"  but  comfort  would  be  in  and 
all  about  it  and  happiness  within  its  walls.  It 
would  face  the  lake  with  an  outlook  on  all  its 
moods,  its  bright  placidity  or  its  rage  in  storms, 
and  there  would  be  white  sails  and  the  passing 
steamers  and  all  that  pertains  to  those  who 
go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships.  And  the  sun  would 
make  yellow  bars  on  the  blue  in  the  morning 
and  hi  the  evening  we  would  see  it  go  down 
into  the  water  red  and  'big  as  a  barn/  and  there 


THE  FAR  AWAY  LADY  55 

would  be  a  crimson  pathway  from  us  to  it,  and 
when  the  summer  darkness  came,  we  should  sit 
happily  together,  listening  to  the  voices  of  the 
night,  the  katydids  and  the  whippoorwills  and 
all  the  other  things.  Then  we  would  be  waked 
in  the  morning  by  the  sunlight  again  and  the 
songs  of  all  the  wild  birds  instead  of  by  the 
whistles  and  the  noisy  chattering  of  city  spar- 
rows. 

"And  the  house  would  have  a  big  front  room 
with  a  mighty  fireplace  in  the  whiter,  and  the 
windows  would  be  made  wide  and  high  so  that 
ever  hi  the  daytime  there  would  be  light — 
more  light — and  there  would  be  lamps  a-plenty 
to  make  it  light  when  the  dark  changed  into 
blackness.  And  about  the  sides  of  all  this  big 
room  there  would  be  cases  with  many  books 
and  in  the  center  of  a  great  table,  with  all  the 
magazines  and  everything  of  passing  interest. 
There  would  be  chairs,  cosy,  indolent  chairs, 
to  dream  in,  and  light  ones  and  business-like 
ones,  and  a  great  couch  with  many  cushions. 

"Outside  you  should  have  your  garden,  the 
flowers  you  love  so,  and  in  the  wood  there 
would  be  a  fountain,  fed  from  the  lake  by  a 
windmill,  where  the  birds  could  drink  and 
bathe  and  quarrel  and  mate,  and  where  we 


56  THE  CASSOWARY 

could  watch  and  study  them.  You  would  be- 
come as  wise  as  Linnaeus  and  I  as  Burroughs. 
"And  there  will  be  dogs/ '— unconsciously 
he  changed  the  tense — "What  is  home  without 
a  dog!  and  about  the  Shack  we  shall  have 
no  limitations.  We'll  have  as  many  as  we 
want;  there'll  be  an  Irish  setter,  soft-eyed  and 
chestnut-coated,  the  perfect  gentleman  among 
dogs;  there'll  be  a  bull  terrier,  bright  and  lov- 
ing; there'll  be  a  collie,  wisest  and  most  ob- 
serving, and,  possibly,  a  toy  dog,  for  your 
plaything  at  times,  when  you  are  tired  of  me. 
And,  finally,  there  will  be  a  bulldog,  a  creature 
of  such  aspect  as  to  give  a  ghost  or  burglar 
spasms,  a  monster  in  appearance,  though  kind 
at  heart,  a  thing  so  hideous  as  to  have  a  bane- 
ful beauty,  with  massive  bow  legs,  wide  apart, 
bloodshot  and  leering  eyes  and  a  countenance 
generally  like  that  of  a  huge  fanged  toad.  And 
all  of  these  too  shall  be  dogs  of  lineage,  Haps- 
burgs  among  dogs,  and  I  will  give  each  of  them 
to  you  when  a  puppy,  so  that  you  may  rear 
them  yourself  and  they  will  become  your  ador- 
ing vassals  and  protectors.  Eh,  but  you  will 
be  well  guarded,  and  I  shall  feel  more  at  ease 
when  I  am  away  from  you,  riding  over  to  town 
for  the  mail  or  to  get  a  lemon  or  two. 


THE  FAR  AWAY  LADY  57 

"And  what  friends  we  will  have,  not  the 
casual,  conventional,  flitting  friends  alone,  such 
as  some  might  be  content  with,  but  those 
closest  to  us  because  of  that  which  cannot  be 
defined  but  which  exists,  and,  besides  them, 
perhaps  less  close  but  hardly  less  companion- 
able, others  of  tastes  and  inclinations  like  our 
own,  and  who  will  riot  or  rest  as  suits  them  in 
the  atmosphere  about  us.  They  will  be  the 
brothers  and  sisters  of  the  time,  and  there 
will  be  doings  both  whimsical  and  wise.  There 
will  be  a  rendezvous  for  those  who  know — our 
author  friends,  our  artist  friends — what  a  lot 
of  them  are  ours! — and  our  musical  friends, 
to  give  an  added  and  different  flavor.  What 
a  piano  you'll  have!  I'll  get  the  one  used  by 
David  and  Miriam  and  Orpheus  and  Apollo 
and  St.  Cecelia  and  Liszt  and  Mrs.  Zeisler — if 
I  can.  Never  mind  the  anachronisms  and 
solecisms — and  we'll  let  them  'sound  the  loud 
timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea,'  or  rather  o'er 
Lake  Michigan,  or  engage  in  any  other  fanta- 
sies appropriate  to  Arcady— land  fifty  dollars 
an  acre — and,  at  times,  we  will,  no  doubt,  be 
unentitled  to  call  our  souls  our  own  . 

"And — so  well  do  I  know  you — there  will  be 
often  there  some  of  those  whose  lines  are  not 


58  THE  CASSOWARY 

cast  in  the  pleasant  places  and  to  whom  such 
freedom  from  care,  and  such  taste  of  home  and 
real  companionship  about  them  will  be  like 
an  outing  in  the  outskirts,  at  least,  of  Paradise. 
And  we'll  try  to  deserve  the  Shack!  Yes, 
we'll  deserve  it  all  the  time — when  buds  are 
bursting,  when  the  green  leaves  hide  the  oriole 
in  the  maple,  when  the  maple's  leaves  are  red, 
and  when  there  are  no  leaves,  and  the  fireplace 
is  doing  its  winter's  roaring.  What  a  home  it 
will  be!  Ah,  my  girl,  we'll" — but  the  sorrowful 
jesting  failed  him,  and  he  said  no  more.  Then 
came  the  parting. 

And  now  the  dreaming  woman's  thoughts  re- 
verted to  the  present.  She  could  see  the  snow 
and  hear  the  wind  and  realize  existent  things. 
How  strange  it  was!  Years  had  passed  and  he 
and  she  were  together  again,  he  drifting  from 
another  hemisphere,  sterner  faced,  perhaps, 
but  still  the  same,  and  she,  changed  too,  she 
thought,  but  doubtless  to  less  advantage.  She 
felt  rebellious.  The  world  was  lost.  To  him 
and  her  could  never  come  in  life  the  close  com- 
radeship which  is  the  crown  of  things,  the  right 
to  share  good  and  ill  alike,  and  meet  the  future, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  laughingly  in  the  enduring 


THE  FAR  AWAY  LADY  59 

love  which  can  become  so  sublimely  a  part  of 
two  souls  that  it  is  a  part  of  immortality. 

And  in  the  next  car  Stafford,  too,  was  sitting 
alone  and  thoughts  very  like  those  of  the  woman 
were  hi  his  mind.  But  he  was  far  less  patient. 
His  bonds  were  chafing  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LIFE   LINE 

There  were  smiles  before  comment  began, 
as  the  minister  finished  his  odd  story,  which, 
as  everybody  seemed  to  feel,  was  told  rather 
to  distract  attention  from  the  outlook  in  the 
present  strait  than  as  having  any  serious  appli- 
cation to  the  theme  under  discussion,  and, 
for  a  time,  there  was  a  departure  from  the 
subject.  The  wind  still  howled  outside,  but 
the  cold  did  not  increase  perceptibly.  A  more 
cheerful  feeling  had  obtained  and  the  situa- 
tion was  now  looked  upon  by  most  of  the  pris- 
oners as  but  one  of  the  extraordinary  incidents 
of  Rocky  Mountain  travel. 

The  one  woman  had  retired  to  her  own  car 
and  Stafford,  after  a  season  of  wild  imagining, 
had  returned  to  earth  again.  He  sat  looking 
upon  the  scene  with  a  degree  of  interest. 

Experienced  and  toughened  man  of  the  world 
as  he  chanced  to  be,  he  was  not  lacking  in  keen 
sympathies,  and  he  wondered,  as  he  studied 
the  faces  about  him,  how  the  test  would  be 


G.J 


THE  LIFE  LINE  61 

endured  should  the  car  be  no  longer  heated 
and  the  supply  of  food  become  exhausted 
before  aid  could  reach  them?  He  had  been 
snowbound  before,  and  he  knew  the  more 
than  uncomfortable  possibilities  of  the  case. 
There  might  be  a  more  continued  fall  of  snow 
than  any  one  anticipated.  The  howl  of  the 
wind  had  subsided  a  little  and  was  no  longer  so 
menacing  in  tone,  but  rather  whistled  and 
muttered,  as  it  tossed  the  masses  of  snow 
about.  It  seemed  to  Stafford  as  indicating  no 
increased  fierceness  of  the  storm  but,  instead, 
more  snow.  The  man  who  has  experienced 
much  of  climes  and  seasons  learns  to  recognize 
a  prophecy  in  the  voice  of  the  wind  and  to  set 
his  house  in  order  accordingly.  In  this  case, 
Stafford  had  much  rather  have  heard  the  wind 
still  giving  utterance  to  its  wolf's  howls.  Howls 
and  bluster  were  nothing,  but  an  addition  to 
the  difficulties  of  the  relief  train  was  what 
was  most  to  fear.  So  Stafford  did  not  like  the 
wind's  more  whimpering  tones.  The  other 
passengers,  with  the  exception  of  a  grizzled 
miner,  and  perhaps,  a  few  others  who  had  long 
known  the  Storm  King  personally,  appeared 
delighted  at  any  abatement  of  the  turmoil 


62  THE  CASSOWARY 

outside.  To  them,  lack  of  noise  was  proof  of 
lack  of  peril. 

It  was  the  Colonel,  that  fine  combination  of 
Colonel  Newcombe,  Mr.  Macawber  and  an  up- 
to-date  retired  American  army  officer,  who  gave 
direction  to  the  course  of  events  again,  as  the 
discussion  went  on  idly.  He  broke  in: 

"What  the  minister  told  us  regarding  what 
was  or  was  not  a  special  providence  relieved 
us,  certainly,  for  it  gave  us  a  conundrum,  and 
conundrums  distract  the  mind,  but  we  must 
keep  the  distraction  up.  Have  there  been  no 
other  providential  dispensations?"  He  turned 
to  the  miner,  whom  he  chanced  to  know  well: 

"Here,  Jim,  you  who  have  been  so  long  in 
the  mountains,  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  us  of 
escapes  which  seemed  purely  providential. 
Don't  you  know  of  any  such  affair?" 

The  miner,  who  was  diffident,  and  who, 
furthermore,  spoke  in  mountain  phrase  and 
with  a  queer  stutter,  tried  to  say  that  he  really 
did  know  of  one  such  case,  and  the  Colonel 
forced  him  to  tell  the  story.  Translated  into 
English — for  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
miner  was  understood,  and  the  Colonel,  who  was 
familiar  with  the  accouui/,  gave  most  of  it — 
this  is  the  story  of  what  happened  to  a  man  and 


THE  LIFE  LINE  63 

wife,  not  altogether  tenderfeet,  in  the  hills,  and 
what  was  accomplished  by 

THE  LIFE  LINE 

Robert  Felton  was  in  luck  when  he  met  an 
Eastern  girl  in  Salt  Lake  City.  He  was  from 
Chicago  and  she  from  Boston.  An  inveterate 
sportsman  was  Felton  and  each  autumn  when 
he  came  out  to  visit  a  mine  in  which  he  was 
interested  the  trip  terminated  with  a  hunting 
expedition  which  extended  sometimes  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  time  of  storms  and  snow.  Once 
or  twice  he  and  his  companions  had  been  nearly 
caught  snowbound  in  the  mountains  and  he 
had  acquired  experience,  not  perhaps  sufficient. 

He  met  a  tall  bronze-haired,  gray-eyed  Cath- 
erine Murdoch  who  was  on  a  visit  from  the 
East — and  that  settled  it.  He  fell  in  love  a 
thousand  feet  and  wooed  with  all  the  vigor  and 
persistency  he  might  have  exhibited  after  elk 
or  bear.  It  didn't  take  long.  The  splendid  ad- 
vance of  the  tempestuous  hunter-miner,  busi- 
ness man,  as  cultivated  as  she  too,  somehow 
fascinated  the  frigid  beauty  and  she  yielded  in 
almost  no  time.  They  met  in  June,  were  mar- 
ried in  September  and  spent  the  winter  and 


64 

spring  and  summer  in  Chicago.  Then,  with 
approaching  autumn,  came  again  upon  Felton 
the  mountain  fever,  and  he  proposed  the  usual 
Western  trip.  He  was  in  love  as  deeply  as  ever 
and  he  was  a  considerate  man. 

"We'll  go  to  Salt  Lake  City,"  he  said,  "and 
I'll  attend  to  my  business — it's  all  hi  town 
there — and  then,  dear,  you'll  let  me  make  a 
hunting  trip,  won't  you,  while  you  stay  in  the 
city  and  have  a  good  time  with  Mary."  Mary 
was  Mrs.  Felton's  cousin. 

"Where  do  you  hunt,  Bob?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Felton. 

"Oh,  generally  away  up  a  canyon  which 
forks  from  one  where  a  couple  of  my  friends  have 
a  mine.  I've  had  a  sort  of  shack  built  away  up 
on  the  side  of  this  branch  canyon,  which  is 
about  five  miles  across  country  from  the  mine, 
and,  every  fall,  they  send  over  a  stock  of  pro- 
visions— canned  goods  and  flour,  and  sugar  and 
tea  and  coffee — and  come  over  themselves  when 
they  can  and  hunt  and  fish  with  me.  It  will  be 
a  little  late  this  year." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  shack  of  yours?" 

"It's  fine.  There  are  a  cook  stove  and  table 
and  three  Chan's  and  a  bed.  There's  a  window, 
too,  and  there's  a  lithograph  of  Li  Hung  Chang 


THE  LIFE  LINE  65 

tacked  up  on  the  wall.  It's  just  voluptuous — 
makes  you  think  of  the  Taj  Mahal  on  the  out- 
side and  the  boudoir  of  a  Sultan's  favorite  in 
the  inside.  It's  a  dream." 

"Bob,  I'm  not  going  to  stay  in  Salt  Lake 
City.  I'm  going  hunting  with  you." 

"What?" 

The  tone  of  the  lady  became  just  a  shade 
pleading : 

"Why  not,  Bob?" 

"Madam,  you're  an  honor  to  my  home  but 
in  a  shack  in  the  mountains  you  would  be  like 
La  Cigale.  Out  of  your  fitting  clime  and  place 
and  your  own  sweet  season,  you  would  perish 
as  do  the  summer  insects.  So  go  the  ephemera. 
Why,  dear,  up  in  the  shack  there,  it's  only  hunt- 
ing, and  fishing,  and  climbing  or  falling  and 
washing  tin  dishes  and  eating  and  sleeping  as 
sleep  the  dead  and  then  doing  the  same  things 
over  again.  You're  no  jewel  for  such  a  setting." 

The  charming  lady  hesitated  for  a  moment 
and  then  spoke  very  thoughtfully  and  earnestly 
though,  it  must  be  admitted,  with  a  certain 
degree  of  cooingness. 

"Bob,  I'm  afraid  I've  been  negligent,  perhaps 
criminally  secretive — but  I  have  failed  to  make 
clear  to  you  one  side  of  my  character.  I  wish 


66  THE  CASSOWARY 

you  to  understand,  sir,  that  I  have  been  in  the 
Adirondacks,  season  after  season,  that  I  can 
swim  like  a  duck,  that  I  can  cast  a  fly  and  that 
I  can  shoot  tolerably  well.  Furthermore  I  can 
cook  almost  anything  in  a  tin  dish.  Am  I  not 
going  with  you,  Bob?" 

There  was  some  astonishment  and  a  whoop, 
certain  excusable  demonstrations  and,  two 
weeks  later,  his  business  concluded  hi  Salt  Lake 
City,  Felton  and  his  wife  were  up  in  the  cabin 
in  the  mountain  and  the  nickel  had  been  fairly 
dropped  in  the  Western  slot. 

It  is  wonderful  when  a  man  is  afield  with  a 
man  companion  who  understands  both  him  and 
the  woods.  It  is  more  wonderful  still  when  the 
companion  is  a  woman  and  the  creature  closest 
to  him  and  understands  all  things,  as  well.  His 
old  friends  of  the  mining  camp — came  over  and 
hunted  with  him  as  usual  and  that  fair  veneered 
barbarian  cooked  famously  for  them,  like  a 
laughing,  chaffing  squaw  and  added  two  more 
to  her  list  of  her  fervent  admirers.  Never  were 
such  happy  days  for  Felton  as  when  he  fished 
or  hunted  with  his  wife.  Woman  who  well  knew 
the  mountains,  wise  as  well  as  beautiful  woman, 
she  had  provided  herself  with  a  suit  for  the 
time's  exigency.  Thick  woolen  was  it,  ending 


THE  LIFE  LINE  67 

in  knickerbockers  and  stout  shoes.  There  was 
a  skirt  which,  by  unclasping  its  belt,  could  be 
taken  on  or  off  in  an  instant.  She  proved  sturdy 
and  there  is  no  occasion  for  the  telling  of  the 
fishing  and  hunting  records  of  the  two.  They 
were  most  content  and  they  lingered  in  the 
mountains. 

One  day — it  was  late  for  autumn — in  the  foot- 
hills— Jim  Trumbull,  one  of  Felton's  two  mining 
friends  over  on  a  visit  said  abruptly: 

"Felton,  it's  time  to  leave.  We're  all  ready 
to  skip." 

"I  think  so  too,"  said  Felton.  "Those  first 
little  snows  seem  ominous.  I  think  we'll  get 
it  early  in  the  season.  I  intend  to  leave  to- 
morrow night.  The  burros  are  all  ready." 

But  the  next  day  Felton  and  his  wife  found 
tracks  and  hunting  and  a  good  day  of  it,  and 
so  night  found  them  still  in  the  cabin.  At 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  Felton  went  out 
and  looked  about.  There  was  a  great  ring 
around  the  moon,  and  the  stars  had  a  dim 
look,  not  like  their  usual  story.  "It  looks  like 
the  sky  over  Chicago,"  Felton  muttered.  He 
slept  uneasily  and  was  awake  at  daylight  look- 
ing anxiously  from  the  cabin  door.  The  earth 
had  changed.  The  universe  was  white.  The 


68  THE  CASSOWARY 

earth  was  white  and  the  air  was  white.  He 
leaped  back  into  the  cabin.  Breakfast  over, 
the  man  who  had  forced  himself  to  eat,  said: 

"Get  a  day's  food,  Kate,  and  get  on  your 
hunting  dress,  with  thick  garments  under  it, 
as  quickly  as  you  can." 

She  did  as  he  told  her  and  he  made  swiftly 
a  back  load  of  the  provisions  and  her  skirt  and 
two  great  blankets.  Well  knew  he  that  they 
must  reach  Parson's  Camp  or  be  lost. 

They  plunged  into  the  whiteness.  They 
must  cross  the  billowy  tongue  of  high  land 
up  and  down  lying  between  the  two  forks  of 
the  great  canyon.  Across  this  mesa  ran  a 
rude  trail  which  none  knew  better  than  did 
Felton,  but  to  feel  and  keep  it  with  this  white 
shroud  of  snow  upon  the  ground  and  hi  the  air 
was  a  feat  almost  impossible.  They  plunged 
ahead  into  the  white  depths,  for  the  wind 
had  made  the  snow  deep  hi  the  opening,  and 
this  depth,  while  it  retarded  their  progress,  was 
after  all  a  godsend.  It  aided  Felton  in  keep- 
ing the  trail.  What  need  to  tell  of  the  details 
of  that  awful  day?  Darkness  was  falling  when 
Felton  carried  an  exhausted  and  senseless  wom- 
an into  Parson's  Camp.  There  was  no  one 
there.  Felton  struck  a  match  and  found  a 


'THEY  PLUNGED  INTO  THE  WHITENESS" 


THE  LIFE  LINE  69 

half-burned  candle.  He  gave  his  wife  whiskey 
and  water  and,  later,  food,  and  she  was  soon 
herself,  for  the  trouble  was  but  exhaustion. 
Then  Felton  sat  down  upon  a  chair  and  figured 
the  thing  out  aloud. 

"They  thought  we'd  gone  and  so  did  not  pay 
any  attention  to  us.  They  had  sense  enough 
to  skip  in  time." 

His  wife  was  up  and  beside  him  now. 

"What  of  it?"  she  said,  "we  have  shelter 
and  warmth,  and  when  it  stops  snowing  perhaps 
we  can  dig  out" — seeing  his  face,  she  added— 
"anyway   we'll   be   rescued,    somehow."    Her 
husband  laughed,  agreeingly. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "we're  all  right."  Then 
he  began  looking  around  for  food. 

He  found  in  one  corner  a  bushel  of  potatoes 
and  hanging  beside  a  bunk  of  shelves  where 
the  cook  had  kept  his  dishes,  there  was  a  good 
part  of  a  dried  deer's  ham.  Standing  on  a 
chair  he  peered  over  the  top  of  the  shelves. 
There  was  nothing  there. 

"We  shall  have  to  live  on  dried  venison  and 
potatoes,"  he  said.  "They  seem  to  have  left 
most  of  their  stuff  on  top  here,"  and  the  lady 
was  content. 

"We'll  have  venison  in  all  sorts  of  ways," 


70  THE  CASSOWARY 

she  commented.  "Here's  some  salt, "  and  she 
held  up  a  little  bag  she  had  found  on  the  floor. 

They  supped  on  what  they  had  brought  and 
slept  in  the  bunk  which  with  its  belongings, 
had  been  abandoned  by  one  of  Felton's  friends. 
There  passed  a  couple  of  blithesome  days — to 
the  woman — while  Felton,  brave  liar,  smiled 
and  made  fires,  and  puns  and  love,  and  was 
sick  at  heart  and  full  of  an  inflammatory  vocab- 
ulary in  his  inmost  being.  The  miners  had  prob- 
ably not  yet  half  way  floundered  through  the 
snow  lying  between  them  and  a  more  or  less 
green  old  valley.  Without  aid  from  the  outside 
Felton  knew  that  he  and  his  wife  must  die. 

The  snow  fell  quietly,  steadily,  remorse- 
lessly. When  the  two  should  be  missed  on 
the  arrival  of  the  miners  at  the  settlement,  it 
was  more  than  likely  that  the  mountains  would 
be  inaccessible  until  spring. 

Felton  found  an  axe  and  kept  himself  from 
desperation  by  digging  out  certain  trees  in  a 
wind  blown  clear  space  one  side  of  the  cabin. 
The  small  trees  he  converted  into  firewood, 
passing  the  sticks  through  the  window  to  Kate, 
who  delightedly  piled  the  fuel  up  hi  great  stacks 
by  the  chimney.  It  was  not  very  cold,  and  they 
congratulated  themselves  upon  their  store  of 


THE  LIFE  LINE  71 

wood,  which  was  carefully  husbanded,  for  future 
contingencies. 

On  the  fourth  day  it  ceased  snowing  and  they 
could  see  the  world.  It  was  all  white.  The  snow 
was  about  five  feet  on  a  level  around  the  house. 
The  canyon  down  which  the  home  trail  ran  was 
evenly  filled  with  feathery  powdered  snow.  It 
grew  colder.  Felton  at  last  told  the  truth  to 
Catherine. 

"Dear,  I  have  been  lying  to  you  frightfully. 
There  has  been  no  food  on  the  top  of  the  big 
shelf.  We  have  enough  to  live  on  for  four  or  five 
days,  at  the  utmost.  Then  we  must  starve. 
We  are  supposed  by  our  friends  to  be  safe,  and 
we  cannot  reach  the  outside  world.  It  would 
take  weeks  for  the  most  determined  men  to 
reach  us — from  Sharon  even,  the  nearest  settle- 
ment." 

Any  man  should  be  satisfied  with  what  this 
woman  did  then.  She  said:  "Dear,  the  only 
reproach  I  have  is  that  you  did  not  tell  me  the 
true  situation  at  first.  Then  we  could  have 
suffered  together,  and  that  would  have  been 
better.  As  it  is  I  think  I  realize  all  the  situation 
now.  We  are  together  and  we  have  been  very 
happy  anyhow." 

This   altogether   illogical   conclusion   of  her 


72  THE  CASSOWARY 

words  somehow  strengthened  Fenton  wonder- 
fully. He  began  fumbling  round  the  room. 
Courage  filled  his  heart,  without  reason,  he 
felt,  but  with  courage  regained  he  was  not  in- 
clined to  quibble  as  to  its  source. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "somehow,  my  girl, 
you've  given  me  hope.  I'll  bet  the  good  God 
will  help  us." 

"Course  He  will,"  responded  this  dignified, 
blessed  young  matron  born  and  bred  in  Boston. 

"Come,"  said  Catherine,  rousing  herself  from 
the  thoughtful  mood  which  had  gripped  her, 
after  the  first  excitement  of  Felton's  revelation 
was  over.  "We  haven't  half  explored  this  place. 
Who  knows  but  there's  a  barrel  of  flour  stowed 
away  in  some  dark  corner." 

"Behind  this  door — for  example,"  said  Felton, 
entering  into  his  wife's  mood,  and  glad  for  any 
little  diversion  to  check  thought  and  imagina- 
tion. 

There  had  been  standing  against  the  wall 
in  one  dark  corner  of  the  room  an  old  door, 
evidently  brought  hi  from  some  outhouse  for 
the  repairing  of  its  hinges.  It  had  not  been  dis- 
turbed since  the  new  occupancy  of  the  place. 
Felton  grasped  the  pineplanks  in  both  hands 
and  set  them  to  one  side.  There  semi-gleaming 


THE  LIFE  LINE  73 

in  the  candlelight  hung  revealed  one  of  the  two 
business  ends  of  the  common  place  and  eminent- 
ly valuable  telephone  of  North  America. 

Felton  gasped  and  then  sat  down  backwards 
on  the  floor.  "Holy  smoke,"  was  all  he  said. 

Catherine  came  running  to  the  half  dazed  man 
but  for  a  little  time  he  said  nothing.  He  was 
thinking.  He  remembered  suddenly  that  there 
was  a  telephone  between  the  mine  and  the  near- 
est town  in  the  valley,  that  to  which  the  miners 
had  fled.  Of  course  the  line  was  deep  beneath 
the  snow,  part  of  the  way,  but  it  might  be  work- 
ing. He  looked  at  his  wife  in  a  dazed  way,  clam- 
bered to  his  feet  and  took  hold  of  the  receiver. 

"Don't  be  disappointed,"  said  Catherine,  "if 
it  doesn't  work.  We  shall  be  saved  somehow." 

"Hello!"  shouted  Fen  ton,  into  the  familiar, 
waiting  'phone. 

The  dazed  wife  stood  by  in  the  silence  which 
ensued,  saying  nothing. 

Moment  after  moment  passed  and  there  came 
no  answer.  Still  the  man  stood  there  repeating 
at  intervals  of  four  or  five  minutes  the  hopeless 
word,  the  call  "Hello".  Suddenly  he  upreared 
himself,  laughed  somewhat  wildly,  and  applied 
his  lips  to  the  transmitter. 


74  THE  CASSOWARY 

"Hello!  Who  is  this?"  came  the  query  from 
Sharon. 

"I  am  Robert  Felton.  Tell  Jim  Worthy  or 
George  Long  that  we  are  snowed  in  at  Parsons, 
without  provisions  for  more  than  a  few  days, 
and  tell  them  to  come  hi  a  hurry — the  trail  is 
from  five  to  twenty  feet  deep  hi  snow." 

"Who  do  you  mean  by  we — all  of  the  Parson's 
crowd?" 

Then  another  question  was  put. 

"My  wife  is  with  me — we  are  alone — the  Par- 
son's outfit  left  the  night  the  storm  began." 

"All  right.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  There'll 
be  help  coming,"  called  the  operator,  and 
the  bell  rung  ending  the  conversation. 

Felton  could  not  speak.  He  sat  dumbly 
waiting,  while  Catherine  chattered  to  him  of 
commonplace  things  to  win  him  back  to  his 
ordinary  frame  of  mind. 

Soon  the  telephone  bell  rang  again,  and 
this  time  friendly,  well  known  voices  gave 
messages  of  hope  and  good  cheer.  It  was 
rumored  that  the  men  from  Parson's  camp 
were  on  the  way — but  so  far  they  had  not  ar- 
rived. Men  and  horses  amply  supplied  with 
tools,  with  provisions,  with  everything  needful, 


THE  LIFE  LINE  75 

would  leave  the  valley  at  once  for  the  work 
of  rescue. 

"But  how  long  can  you  hold  out?"  at  last 
broke  in  one  of  the  heartsome,  friendly  voices." 

"It  may  take  us  ten  or  even  twenty  days 
to  shovel  through  to  you — can  you  stand  such 
a  siege?" 

"We'll  do  our  best,"  returned  Felton,  over 
the  wire,  "but  the  truth  is,  we  are  pretty  short 
of  food,  so  take  no  chances." 

They  were  already  living  on  carefully  meas- 
ured out  rations  and  Felton  resolved  to  reduce 
his  own  portion  below  the  meagre  amount  he 
had  already  given  himself. 

"Keep  up  heart,  we'll  help  you — Goodbye!" 
So  ended  this  talk  with  Worthy  and  Long. 

The  days  dragged.  The  wood  chopping, 
the  fire  keeping,  the  story  telling,  to  beguile 
the  weary  hours,  went  on.  Once  or  twice  a 
day  came  a  message  of  good  hope  from  Sharon. 
The  rescuers  were  off,  and  in  the  shortest  time 
possible  would  reach  the  beleagured  couple. 

One  morning  there  came  a  sharp,  insistent 
ringing  of  the  bell  which  opened  the  door  of 
the  world  to  these  two  who  were  making  their 
one  daily  meal  from  scraps  of  dried  meat,  and 


76  THE  CASSOWARY 

almost  the  very  last  of  the  treasured  rations 
were  in  their  hands  at  the  moment. 

"Hello!"  caUed  Felton  at  the  'phone  in  a 
moment. 

"Hello!  That  you  Felton?" 

"Yes.    This  isn't  Tom,  is  it?" 

"Yes — of  course,  Tom,  just  hi  from  Parson's — 
been  hearing  about  you.  We  left  in  a  hurry — 
mighty  lucky  or  you  wouldn't  have  had  the 
telephone  connected  and  ready  for  business." 

It  was  one  of  the  men  from  Parson's  camp. 

"They've  reached  Sharon!"  said  Felton  to 
Catherine. 

"Say!"  came  Tom's  voice  over  the  wire, 
"You've  found  the  stores,  haven't  you?" 

"What  stores?"  replied  Felton— "We  found 
a  little  dried  venison,  and  some  potatoes  in 
the  cupboard,  but  they  are  all  gone." 

"Darn  a  tenderfoot  anyway!"  shouted  Tom- 
then  recollecting  himself  he  went  on.  "Take 
up  a  board  there  over  by  the  table.  Where 
do  you  expect  to  find  provisions  if  not  in  the 
cellar?"  Then  he  muttered  to  himself .  "They're 
in  luck.  It's  just  a  providence!  We  thought 
of  packing  that  grub  down  with  us." 

Down  went  the  hand  of  Felton,  and  away  he 
sprung  to  the  square  pine  table  near  the  door. 


THE  LIFE  LINE  77 

Taking  up  a  loose  board  he  gazed  exantantly 
into  what  Tom  called  the  cellar,  a  square  hole 
under  the  floor,  filled  with  boxes  and  kegs  and 
tin  cans  of  meat  and  vegetables  and  biscuits. 

"Catherine!"  he  called,  but  Catherine  was 
already  there,  kneeling  by  him,  her  arms  around 
his  neck.  She  was  crying,  the  brave  girl,  and 
Felton  was  conscious  of  a  sneaking  desire  to 
follow  her  example. 

"But  won't  we  feast?"  at  last  Catherine  spoke. 
And  then  she  ran  to  the  telephone  to  send  her 
own  special  message  to  Tom,  and  to  the  whole 
Parsons  outfit,  and  it  is  certain  that  there  never 
went  over  the  wires  a  more  grateful  and  gracious 
thankfulness  than  was  expressed  by  Catherine 
and  Felton  upon  this  occasion. 

And  so,  with  renewed  life,  the  two  awaited 
events,  and  one  day,  toward  noon,  they  heard 
through  the  stillness  a  faint  sound,  a  sort  of 
metallic  clink,  and  a  little  later  they  were  sure 
of  the  welcome  ring  of  men's  voices.  Felton 
fired  off  the  loaded  rifle  which  hung  over  the 
cabin  door  at  Parson's  and  soon  came  an  answer- 
ing volley  of  pistol  shots  and  a  faintly  heard 
muffled  "hurrah." 

Felton  seized  his  own  snow  shovel,  and  began 
madly  working  through  the  drifts  in  front  of 


78  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  door.  His  efforts  looked  puny  in  the  waste 
of  snow,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  his  nerves  to  be 
active,  and  soon  Catherine  joined  him,  laughing 
and  royally  flourishing  the  Parsons  broom. 

It  was  two  hours  before  the  rescuing  army 
of  miners  and  cowboys  reached  the  little  lane 
which  Felton  and  Catherine  had  cut  out  and 
swept  for  them — scarce  ten  yards  it  reached 
from  the  doorway.  And  then,  well,  then  it 
was  but  a  few  days  back  to  the  world — that 
world  which  had  been  saved  to  Felton  and  his 
wife  by  the  life  line,  the  wire  stretched  across 
and  through  the  snow  between  mountains 
and  men. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  TOAD  AND  A  SONG 

There  had  been  a  period  of  aimless  talk  in 
the  rear  car  after  the  Miner  had  concluded,  but 
this  resolved  itself  finally  into  a  lively  discussion 
regarding  the  probable  quality  of  the  hidden 
country  round  about.  Some  declared  that 
there  existed  only  the  abomination  of  desola- 
tion while  others  spoke  of  the  amazing  wealth 
concealed  beneath  the  surface  of  the  earth 
and  asserted  that  neither  the  Land  of  Ophir 
nor  Pennsylvania  could  endure  comparison 
with  the  region  in  which  they  were  now  ma- 
rooned. 

"Is  this  place  in  the  midst  of  the  ore-pro- 
ducing or  the  coal  region?"  some  one  asked,  "or 
is  it  in  neither?  How  about  it,  Mr.  Miner?" 

"I  don't  know,"  responded  the  Miner,  "I 
only  know  that  if  it's  coal,  it's  better  than 
metal.  When  you  find  coal,  you've  got  some- 
thing. When  you  find  silver  or  gold,  you  don't 
know  how  hard  it  may  be  to  extract  it  from  its 
rock  or  how  soon  the  find  will  peter  out.  Even 


80  THE  CASSOWARY 

bonanzas  peter  out.  When  you  find  gold  or 
silver,  you're  just  flirtin'.  When  you  strike 
a  coal  bed  you've  got  married." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  the  Miner's  simile  and 
then  a  reflection  from  another  seeker  after 
information,  Mrs.  Livingston  this  time. 

"I  wonder  which  is  the  older,  the  ore  or  the 
coal?  It  would  be  interesting  to  know." 

"I  imagine,  madam,"  said  the  Professor, 
as  he  was  only  known,  "that  the  ore  deposits, 
formed  by  volcanic  upheavals,  far  antedate 
those  of  coal,  originating  from  vegetable  depos- 
its, great  forests,  fern-like  forests  it  may  be, 
which  had  their  being  long  after  earth  had 
become  productive.  Besides,  as  I  understand, 
a  toad  has  been  taken  from  a  coal  mine  and  the 
toad,  thus  discovered,  belongs  to  a  modern 
order  of  batrachians." 

"Was  the  toad  alive?"  was  asked. 

"So  I  understand,"  said  the  Professor.  "It 
was  hi  a  comatose  condition  but  revived  when 
brought  into  the  air  and  light." 

There  was  much  comment  among  the  party 
and  then  an  idea  came  suddenly  to  the  Young 
Lady,  who  was  by  no  means  lacking  in  sentiment 
or  fancy.  "I  wonder,"  she  mused,  "what  that 
toad  was  thinking  of  during  all  the  centuries 


A  TOAD  AND  A  SONG  81 

of  his  dark  imprisonment?  Mr.  Poet,"  she 
broke  out,  "You  are  to  retire  to  the  end  of  the 
car  and,  for  one  hour,  at  least,  no  word  may  you 
utter.  I  will  find  you  paper  and  pencil  now,  and 
you  may  not  speak  again  until  you  have  written 
a  poem  telling  of  the  sensations  of  that  toad 
when  he  was  restored  to  light  and  air  again." 

The  Poet  was  gallant.  "One  cannot  do  well 
always  under  duress,"  was  his  response,  "but 
one  should  certainly  make  an  effort,  under 
the  circumstances.  I'll  do  my  best,  at  least." 

And  so,  amid  the  laughter  of  the  passengers, 
he  was  hustled  off  to  a  corner  and  left  to  his 
fancies  and  his  struggle.  The  conversation 
went  on  and  the  sufferer  in  the  corner  was 
almost  forgotten  save,  of  course,  by  the  Young 
Lady.  It  was  a  little  after  the  hour's  end, 
when  he  emerged,  exhibiting  a  rather  graceful 
diffidence.  And  this  is  what  he  read : 

THE  TOAD  FROM  THE  MINES 

I  am  a  toad, 
Squat  and  grimy  and  rough  and  brown, 

I  come  from  a  queer  abode, 
From  down,  down,  down, 

Where,  for  centuries,  no  light 

Had  fallen  on  my  sight, 

Until,  with  sudden  shock, 

Parted  the  rock, 

Yielded  the  stony  clamps 


82  THE  CASSOWARY 

And  blazed  in  my  dim  eyes  the  miners'  lamps  \ 
What  view  is  now  unfurled ! 
It  is  another  world 

From  that  I  left 

Centuries  ago,  to  which  they've  brought  me 
Since  the  black  rock  was  cleft 
Where  thus  they  caught  me. 
Centuries  ago,  one  day, 
I  was  upon  a  river  bank,  at  play. 
Nature  was  very  fair; 
I  fed  on  buzzing  insects  of  the  air, 
Beneath  tall  palms  that  grew  beside  the  stream 
In  which  huge  monsters  bathed.     It  did  not  seem 
A  world  like  this  at  all.     It  was  more  grand. 
The  mighty  waters  washed  a  teeming  land 
And  life  was  great  and  fervid.     Suddenly 
Upheaved  the  land,  upheaved  the  awful  sea; 
The  earth  was  riven;  toppling  forests  bent, 
To  sink  and  disappear  in  that  vast  rent ! 

Down,  down,  down. 

The  landscape  plunged  from  light  and  life  awayj 
And  now  again,  to  me  alone,  'tis  day. 

How  odd  it  all  appears ! 
Encysted  in  the  rock  ten  thousand  years, 
I  am  a  stranger  here;  I  cannot  praise 
Those  who  released  me;  mine  are  not  your  ways. 

In  this  new  life  I  have  no  enterprise; 

The  sunshine  in  my  eyes 
But  gives  me  pain. 
Put  me  in  some  niche  of  the  rock  again, 

It  is  the  only  fit  abode 

For  me — a  prehistoric  toad. 

There  was  a  buzz  of  applause  as  the  Poet 
concluded.  Then  up  rose  Colonel  Livingston. 

"The  Toad's  experience  has  made  me  senti- 
mental and  dreamy  of  mood.  Personally,  I'd 


t 


1 


*     0     J 


1.  We  are  the  Dreamers  of     Dreams,    We're  the  ere  -  a  -  tors  of 

2.  We  tread  the  paths  that  are  vagrant,  And  we  do  the  deeds  that  are 

3.  For  we  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams,   etc. 


fan  -  cies  ;  . 
fla  -  grant, 


fSU. 


We   are  what-ev  -  er     it      seems, 
But  ev  -  er,  with-out    an  -  y       goad,  . 


The 
We 


Bf 


Motto  rU. 


Coda 


m 


owners  of  reason  that  dances. 
find  oar  way  back  to  the  road. 


We  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams. 
We  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams. 


•*• 


353 


A  TOAD  AND  A  SONG  83 

like  to  have  my  savage  breast  soothed  by  some 
music.  Has  anybody  a  piano?  No?  Well, 
we  can  get  along  without  one.  Will  not  some 
one  sing?  Who  can  sing?  Mr.  Stranger," 
— and  he  addressed  himself  to  a  recent  and  as 
yet  unrecognized  addition  to  the  party — "y°u 
seem  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  and 
to  enjoy  our  fancies  indulged  here  in  this,  our 
preposterously  direful  strait.  Will  you  sing 
for  us?" 

And  to  the  amazement  of  all,  the  Stranger 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  "Certainly,"  said 
he.  "I  believe  in  fancies."  And  this  is  what 
he  sang : 

THE  DREAMERS  OF  DREAMS 

We  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams; 

We  are  the  creatures  of  fancies; 
We  are — whatever  it  seems, — 

The  owners  of  reason  that  dances, 
We  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams. 

We  tread  in  the  paths  that  are  vagrant, 
And  we  do  the  deeds  that  are  flagrant] 

But  ever  without  any  goad, 

We  find  our  way  back  to  the  road. 

For  we  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams; 

We  are  the  creatures  of  fancies; 
We  are — whatever  it  seems, — 

The  owners  of  reason  that  dances, 
We  are  the  Dreamers  of  Dreams. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG 

One  whose  presence  aided  in  promoting  a 
healthful  mental  atmosphere  among  those  so 
constrained  to  be  together  was  a  lady  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age  who  bore  herself  with  the  air 
of  a  school-teacher,  but  decidedly  with  the 
manner  of  one  whom  her  pupils  would  more 
love  than  fear.  She  laughingly  alluded  to 
herself  as  the  Teacher  and,  by  common  con- 
sent, this  had  become  her  designation.  It  was 
she,  most  well-informed  and  reflective  of  ladies, 
who,  after  the  applause  following  the  Stranger's 
song  had  barely  died  away,  advanced  a  proposi- 
tion involving  immediately  and  deeply  a  tanned, 
good-looking  man  who,  as  was  known,  had  been 
engaged  in  the  work  of  collecting  rare  orchids 
in  South  America. 

"I  have  read  somewhere,"  said  she,  "that 
people  adrift  for  days  at  sea,  and  parched  and 
half-crazed  with  thirst,  either  relieve  or,  pos- 
sibly, aggravate  their  sufferings — P  do  not  know 
how  that  may  be — by  all  sorts  of  queer  debate 


84 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG  85 

as  to  whether  ice-water  is  good  for  the  health 
or  not,  whether  iced-claret  is  better  than  plain 
lemonade,  in  short  in  a  discussion  as  to  the 
relative  merits  of  all  sorts  of  cooling  drinks. 
And  I  have  read  too,  that  people  starving, 
like  some  of  the  Arctic  explorers,  conduct  them- 
selves in  almost  the  same  way,  imagining  all 
sorts  of  magnificent  repasts,  each  telling  of 
some  meal  where  his  choice  among  foods  was 
the  principal  dish  or  describing  what  he  would 
first  order  should  he  ever  reach  civilization 
again. 

"Now,"  she  continued,  "it  seems  to  me," 
and  she  drew  her  cloak  about  her  more  closely 
and  with  a  shudder,  "it  seems  to  me  that  it 
would  be  a  great  relief  and  comfort  if  some  one 
were  to  tell  a  story  of  a  tropic  region,  a  place 
where  snow  and  ice  are  all  unknown.  I  think 
we  would  enjoy  it.  I  know  I  should  myself. 
Mr.  Explorer/'  and  she  turned  to  that  gentle- 
man, "you  have  certainly  at  some  time  wandered 
about  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Equator,  cannot 
you  tell  us  a  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid 
in  a  region  where  it  is  always  decently  warm?" 
And  she  shuddered  again  and  cuddled  down 
more  closely  in  her  seat. 

The  Explorer  answered  readily:  "I've  been 


86  THE  CASSOWARY 

in  the  vicinity  of  the  Equator  a  great  many 
times,  but  I  do  not  remember  any  experience 
which  would  furnish  material  for  a  story." 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  "Ah,  yes,  I  do,  it's  a 
very  curious  story,  too.  I  think  we  may  call  it 

"ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG" 

Alan  Mac  Gregor  was  with  us  in  South  Amer- 
ica. He  was  with  us,  but  not  of  us.  He  had 
money  enough,  and  had  come  along  just  because 
I  wanted  him  to,  and  he  wanted  to  see  what 
the  tropics  were  like.  We  were  a  semi-scientific 
group,  looking  for  orchids  and  caoutchouc  and 
various  other  things  which  could  be  transported 
down  the  Amazon  and  turned  into  good  dollars 
at  any  port  on  the  Atlantic  coast. 

MacGregor  was  practically  an  outsider,  but 
was  generally  regarded  as  one  of  us.  I  think 
the  only  possible  distinction  which  existed 
between  him  and  any  other  man  of  the  group 
was,  that  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  a 
young  Scottish  woman  of  Chicago,  of  whose 
intense  clannishness  and  patriotism  he  was 
everlastingly  boasting  and  laughing  the  while. 
In  fact,  he  became  almost  something  of  a  bore 
to  us,  with  his  dreaming  and  his  tale-telling 
of  this  Miss  Agnes  Cameron,  who,  he  declared 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG  87 

was  the  most  earnest  Highlander  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  She  knew  every  clan  and  the 
coloring  of  any  crisscross  of  tartan  ever  worn 
under  snowflake  or  under  sunshine.  He  was 
most  desperately  in  love,  and  what  he  seemed 
greatly  to  admire  in  his  sweetheart  was  her 
pure  Scottish  patriotism.  She  thought  of,  and 
he  quoted,  only  "Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace 
bled,"  or  "Up  with  the  bonnets  of  Bonny 
Dundee,"  or  any  other  thing  of  that  sort  relating 
to  the  exploits  of  the  Highlanders  of  modernly 
classic  times. 

Well,  MacGregor  and  I  did  a  good  deal  of 
exploring  and  a  good  deal  of  shooting,  and 
enjoyed  ourselves  together.  It  is  not  necessary 
in  this  account  to  mention  the  exact  locality, 
because,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  could  not  remember 
it  distinctly  myself.  We  were  camped  in  the 
corner  of  a  little  affluent  of  the  Amazon,  some 
hundreds  of  miles  up  from  the  delta.  It  was  a 
pleasant  enough  region,  barring  the  fact  that 
it  was  frightfully  hot  and  that  there  seemed 
to  be  more  jaguars  and  alligators  and  ana- 
condas to  the  square  mile  than  were  really 
necessary.  Of  course,  tastes  differ  as  to  the 
number  of  jaguars  and  alligators  and  ana- 
condas there  should  be  to  this  mentioned  area, 


88  THE  CASSOWARY 

but  the  consensus  of  opinion  in  our  little  party 
was  that,  in  that  latitude  and  altitude,  the 
average  had  been  a  little  overrun.  Not  only 
were  they  numerous — the  animals  thus  indi- 
cated— but  they  seemed  to  be,  in  every  instance, 
healthy  and  unnecessarily  enterprising. 

Lots  of  things  happened,  but  the  thing  which 
has  always  remained  best  fixed  hi  my  memory 
was  the  affair  of  MacGregor's  brown  leg.  We 
had  been  out  shooting  parrots  together  that 
very  afternoon,  and  I  remember  that  he  drove 
me  nearly  mad  by  his  repetition  of  how  good 
a  Scotchwoman  his  "lassie"  was,  and  how  she 
boasted  of  the  fact  that  she  was  a  direct  descend- 
ant of  the  reckless  old  riever,  who,  herding 
back  into  the  Highlands  stolen  cattle  from  the 
Lowlands,  and  stopping  for  a  few  hours  about 
midnight  to  let  kine  and  clansmen  rest,  suddenly 
discovered  that  his  son,  his  eldest  son,  the  pride 
of  clan  and  family,  had  so  degenerated  that, 
lying  barelegged  in  the  snow,  he  had  rolled  up 
a  snowball  for  a  pillow,  and  was  there  sleeping 
most  luxuriously  when  his  father  found  him. 
The  old  laird  promptly  kicked  that  snowball 
into  the  ewigkeit,  and  wanted  to  know  how  far 
his  family  had  become  degenerate  and  degraded ! 
Well,  Miss  Agnes  Cameron  boasted  of  this  old 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG          89 

laird  as  her  great,  great,  and  so  on,  ancestor. 
This  will  give  some  idea  of  the  extent  of  her 
native  pride  in  bare  legs  and  Scottish  blood. 

It  was,  perhaps,  four  o'clock  one  afternoon 
when  we  were  in  camp  in  an  open  glade  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  forest,  that  the  whole  com- 
pany scattered  itself  of  its  own  impulse.  I 
wanted  to  study  the  habits  of  a  small  animal, 
a  specimen  of  which  I  had  seen  among  some 
rocks  a  mile  away — a  sort  of  little  armadillo. 
My  scientific  associate  wanted  to  try  for  a  jaguar, 
the  growls  of  which  our  attendants  had  heard 
in  the  forest,  a  mile  or  so  in  the  other  direction. 
The  natives  whom  we  had  employed  as  guides 
and  servants  were  themselves  anxious  to  engage 
in  a  little  expedition  of  their  own.  They  had 
seen  a  fruit  of  which  they  are  fond — they  are 
always  gorging  when  they  have  opportunity, 
these  almost  savage  natives — and  they  wanted 
to  go  out  and  gather  a  great  quantity  of  it  while 
the  opportunity  offered.  Alan  alone  remained 
inactive.  He  had  worked  hard  the  day  before, 
had  done  a  lot  of  shooting,  and  had  need  of  rest, 
and  now,  as  he  declared,  he  wanted  to  slip  away 
and  sleep  all  the  afternoon.  Sometimes  Alan 
drank  a  little.  I  believe  he  had  a  flask  with 
him  that  day.  At  any  rate,  we  all  departed 


90  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  left  him  lying  stretched  out  upon  the  ground 
beneath  a  giant  tree,  which  kept  him  shaded 
as  if  beneath  an  umbrella,  fifty  feet,  at  least,  in 
its  diameter. 

That  is  all  there  was  to  the  situation.  We 
drifted  away  into  the  forest  in  our  several  direc- 
tions, and  left  Alan  lying  there  sleeping  like  a 
lump,  for,  poor  fellow,  he  needed  rest.  "It 
would  take  a  good  deal  to  disturb  that  man," 
laughed  one  of  the  party  as  we  departed.  Now, 
as  to  what  followed,  I  can  tell  you  only  of  what 
I  did  not  see,  but  what,  as  was  made  apparent 
later,  was  the  absolute  fact. 

We  were  camped  close  beside  a  great  creek 
which  reached  the  affluent  of  the  Amazon,  and 
along  these  creeks,  as  along  the  river  proper, 
were  gigantic  serpents.  The  anaconda  is  as 
much  at  home  on  land  as  in  water.  Those  big 
constrictors  of  the  southern  part  of  this  great 
hemisphere  are  dreadful.  They  prey  upon  the 
deer  and  upon  a  thousand  other  things.  They 
are  a  terror  everywhere,  and,  though  we  did 
not  know  it  at  the  time,  there  was  concealed 
in  that  tree  beneath  which  poor  Alan  was  lying, 
a  very  healthy  specimen  of  this  powerful  reptile. 
That  was  what  we  concluded  afterward,  al- 
though the  great  snake  may  not  have  been 


"THE  GREAT  SNAKE  BEGAN  ITS  WORK  OF  DEGLUTITION" 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG          91 

there  when  we  left,  and  may  have  come  after- 
ward. Anyway,  what  happened  must  have  been 
just  this:  The  great  serpent  saw  the  sleeping 
man,  and  looked  upon  him  as  his  prey.  He  saw 
what  was  his  food  breathing  stertorously,  and 
he  dropped  from  the  tree  or  came  up  from  the 
river  beside  him.  He  began  to  swallow  the  man. 
It  was  unfortunate  for  this  particular  ana- 
conda that  the  reptilia  are  not  great  reasoners. 
He  should  have  begun  upon  the  man's  head. 
Then  it  would  have  been  a  simple  thing.  The 
man  would  have  been  engulfed,  the  serpent 
would  have  crawled  sluggishly  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  away  and  begun  his  period  of  digestion, 
and  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  the  inci- 
dent. Instead  of  that,  he  started  on  a  foot, 
and  began  swallowing  from  that  point.  Now, 
it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  this  swallowing  of 
a  body  by  any  of  the  constrictor  family,  except 
as  to  contraction  and  eventual  suffocation,  is 
harmless,  because  the  jaws  of  this  class  of 
serpents  are  unconnected.  The  upper  jaw  slips 
forward,  hooks  onto  the  body  with  its  fangs  and 
draws  it  into  an  enormously  distended  throat. 
Then  the  under  jaw  slips  forward  in  the  same 
manner,  hooks  its  fangs,  and  draws  it  back  in 
the  same  way.  So,  inch  by  inch,  a  body  is 


92  THE  CASSOWARY 

engulfed.  Anything  with  a  nonsensitive  ex- 
terior can  be  swallowed  by  an  anaconda,  a  boa, 
or  a  python  without  knowing  about  it  until 
a  lack  of  ah-  becomes  apparent. 

MacGregor  wore  a  pair  of  very  heavy  leather 
trousers  he  had  secured  to  guard  him  against 
the  undergrowth  with  which  we  had  to  worry. 
So  the  great  snake  began  his  work  of  deglutition, 
and  Alan  lay  there,  unconscious  of  what  was 
going  on.  Still  that  snake  swallowed  Alan  as 
fast  as  he  could.  He  swallowed  him  as  far  up 
as  the  leg  went  and  then  stopped,  from  the 
simple  fact  that  the  rest  of  Alan  lay  at  right 
angles  across  his  mouth,  and  he  could  not 
swallow  any  further.  But  a  snake  does  not 
reason  much,  and  this  particular  anaconda  lay 
there  contented,  perhaps  in  his  dim  way  know- 
ing that  he  had  got  something  good  as  far  as  it 
went,  and  that  he  was  satisfied.  And  the 
process  of  digestion  went  on. 

It  was  truly  a  coincidence  that  we  all  returned 
almost  together  that  evening.  It  must  have 
been  about  seven  o'clock.  Malcolm  came  back 
from  his  particular  quest  without  a  jaguar.  I 
had  failed  to  find  my  little  animal.  The  natives 
had  found  their  fruit,  and  had  gathered  a  large 
load,  or  they  would  have  been  in  long  before  us. 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG          93 

Then  we  looked  for  Alan.  To  describe  the 
scene  that  ensued  when  our  poor  friend  was 
discovered  would  be  impossible.  He  was  sleep- 
ing like  a  log.  We  thought  him  dead,  at  first, 
but  some  one  gave  him  a  spat  upon  the  face  and 
shouted,  and  he  leaped,  or  tried  to  leap,  to  his 
feet,  and  when  he  saw  what  was  the  matter,  he 
gave  one  of  the  most  blood-curdling  yells  ever 
emitted  upon  either  the  North  or  the  South 
American  continent.  The  snake  began  thrash- 
ing around,  but  was  already  in  a  semi-lethargic 
condition,  and  was  promptly  chopped  in  two 
a  little  below  the  point  where  the  foot  of  our 
poor  friend  was  supposed  to  be.  Then  the 
remainder  of  the  serpent  was  cut  away  with 
much  difficulty  from  the  leg  which  it  had  envel- 
oped, and  a  shocking  spectacle  was  presented. 
It  is  understood,  generally,  that  the  digestive 
organs  of  the  anaconda  are  something  most 
remarkable.  Here  was  an  illustration  in  fact. 
Not  only  the  leather  trousers  of  our  unfortunate 
friend  had  been  digested  away,  but  the  digesting 
process  had  reached  his  skin  and  destroyed  it 
utterly.  The  bare  flesh  was  all  exposed  and  the 
skin  had  followed  the  trousers.  Alan  was 
unable  to  stand,  and  was  so  overcome  with 
horror  at  his  condition,  as  to  be  incapable  of 


94  THE  CASSOWARY 

suggesting  anything  for  relief  from  his  imme- 
diate predicament  or  for  his  future  restoration. 
The  raw  flesh  attracted  a  myriad  of  insects, 
who  added  all  their  tantalizing  possibilities  to 
the  situation.  Alan  could  not  bear  contact  with 
any  sort  of  covering,  and  none  of  us  was  provided 
with  oiled  silk  or  anything  suitable  for  such  an 
unheard-of  emergency.  I  did  not  know  what 
to  do.  I  called  upon  Dr.  Jacobson,  the  eminent 
scientist  of  the  expedition.  Hardly  had  I 
asked  his  advice,  before  there  came  the  whirr 
and  swish  of  arrows,  and  we  were  in  a  charming 
fight  in  no  time.  The  event,  in  fact,  became 
almost  too  interesting,  but  we, managed  to  drive 
off  the  natives  and  found  half  a  dozen  of  them, 
dead  or  dying  in  the  underbrush.  They  had 
carried  off  most  of  their  wounded. 

To  Jacobson  came  an  inspiration,  as  he  was 
looking  curiously  at  one  of  the  dead  natives. 
He  broke  out  excitedly : 

"There's  an  insensible,  dying  Indian  just 
about  the  size  of  MacGregor.  If  we  work 
quickly  enough,  we  can  do  the  biggest  job  of 
skin  grafting  ever  heard  of  upon  this  or  any 
other  continent,  or  anywhere  in  stellar  space  as 
far  as  you  have  a  mind  to  go." 

We  did  it  all  with  a  rush,  under  the  scientist's 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG    95 

direction.  We  skinned  that  half-way  nigger's 
leg,  and  it  was  immediately  and  neatly  inflected, 
adjusted,  and  stitched  upon  the  leg  which  had 
loitered  a  shade  too  long  in  the  maw  of  the 
anaconda.  The  dark  skin  fitted  on,  and  grew 
to  be  a  part  of  MacGregor  in  almost  no  time. 
Talk  about  the  "hand-me-down"  man  who 
assures  the  customer  that  the  thing  "fits  shust 
like  de  paper  on  de  vail,"  well,  neither  he  nor  his 
customer  could  be  counted  in  with  our  scientist 
and  MacGregor  and  a  portion  of  tha  South 
American,  so  lately  but  so  permanently  de- 
ceased. 

That  is  about  all  there  is  to  the  tropical  part 
of  this  episode.  I  was  present  when  Alan  met 
his  sweetheart  again.  Soon  came  St.  Andrew's 
day.  MacGregor  was  to  be  a  prominent  figure, 
and  his  sweetheart  awaited  the  occasion  with 
pride  and  hopefulness,  and  great  enthusiasm. 
She  waited,  anxiously,  until  she  should  see  her 
true  love  conspicuous,  as  she  thought  he  ought 
to  be,  in  the  crack  organization  of  those  who 
made  part  of  the  parade  of  St.  Andrew's  day. 
There  came  a  moment  of  intense  excitement, 
both  to  her  and  to  the  somewhat  overbearing 
Scottish  group  about  her.  When  it  was  gener- 
ally understood  that  the  most  vaunting,  aristo- 


96  THE  CASSOWARY 

cratic,  and  full-blooded  Scots  company  was 
about  to  pass,  she  watched  and  watched, 
watched  just  for  him,  to  see  her  great  lover 
stalking  nobly  in  the  finest  company.  Time 
lagged.  Never  before  had  Time  so  loafed  and 
enjoyed  himself  in  some  nonsense  by  the  way 
side.  Finally,  a  hundred  yards  away,  came 
imposing  and  demanding  on  the  ear-drums  the 
music  of  the  pipes.  There  wasn't  any  slogan, 
because  there  wasn't  any  fight,  but  something 
almost  as  appealing  to  the  clean,  stubborn, 
Scottish  heart,  be  it  in  man  or  woman.  They 
swung  around  the  corner  and  into  the  main 
street.  She  saw  it  all  and  she  knew  it  all,  and 
looked  for  Alan  MacGregor  among  those  coming 
barelegged  to  the  fore  with  the  weird  music 
which  has  for  centuries  meant  ever  pluck,  and 
sometimes  conquest.  Her  eyes  turned  this 
way  and  that  way,  and  finally  they  lit  upon 
her  sweetheart.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
it.  There  he  was,  marching  as  lieutenant  or 
something  of  that  sort,  of  the  tartaned  company, 
all  barelegged  from  below  the  kilt  a  little  above 
the  knee  to  thick  stocking  just  below  the  knee, 
all  alike  displaying  this  ancient  Scottish  endur- 
ance of  field  and  flood  and  of  anything  else. 
The  girl's  stately  Alan  walked  grandly  in  his 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG    97 

place,  clad  confidently  in  the  tartan  of  his 
clan,  and  showing  his  strip  of  leg  about  the 
knee  as  brazenly  as  did  any  other  man  of  the 
parading  Scotsmen. 

The  girl  saw  him,  looked  upon  him,  first 
buojTant,  excited  and  admiring,  then  appalled. 
She  saw  him  lording  it  abroad  among  his 
minions,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  noted  that 
his  legs  were  black  and  those  of  the  other  men 
white.  She  could  not  understand  it;  it  was 
something  ghastly. 

What  had  happened  was  this : 

It  was  the  morning  of  St.  Andrew's  day,  and 
they  were  gathered  in  the  armory,  the  hundreds 
of  enthusiastic  Scots.  The  sun's  rays  shot 
slanting  through  the  windows,  lit  upon  bonnet, 
tartan,  and  sporan,  and  upon  legs  bare  at  the 
knee,  "uncomely  fair,"  as  a  veteran  observed, 
which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  as  they  were 
thus  exposed  but  once  a  year,  to  the  intense 
but  concealed  discomfort  of  their  shivering 
but  patriotic  owners.  Ringing-voiced  and  cheer- 
ful among  them  was  Alan  MacGregor.  He 
dressed  himself  in  the  retiring  room,  as  did 
the  others,  and  came  out  in  all  the  kilted 
glory  of  his  ancient  clan.  He  was  a  fine  figure 
of  a  man  to  look  upon,  but  there  was  a  howl 


98  THE  CASSOWARY 

when  he  appeared.  The  bare  patch  about 
the  knee  of  one  leg  showed  white,  and  on  the 
other,  black! 

"Ken  ye  what's  the  matter  wi'  your  legs, 
mon?"  roared  a  giant  among  the  group;  and 
MacGregor  looked  down,  to  realize  in  a  moment 
his  condition.  It  would  never  do  to  march 
through  the  streets  with  one  leg  black  and  the 
other  white.  In  desperation  he  told  his  story 
to  his  assembled  countrymen.  There  was  a 
groan  of  sympathy  and  perplexity,  until  the 
tension  was  relieved  by  the  cry  of  an  inventive 
young  whelp  from  the  Orkneys: 

"What's  the  matter  with  ink?" 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  a  howl 
of  applause,  and,  three  minutes  later,  the  bare 
portion  of  MacGregor's  white  leg  was  made  to 
correspond  in  color  with  the  other. 

To  repeat,  in  a  way,  what  has  been  already 
told,  from  the  armory,  the  gallant  Scotsmen 
swung  upon  the  street  in  serried  numbers,  to 
march  imposingly  through  streets  lined  and 
flanked  with  thousands  and  thousands  of  their 
fellow-citizens  of  any  birth.  They  made  a 
spectacle  which  it  was  good  to  see.  Each  piper 
"screwed  his  pipes  and  garred  them  skirl," 
"The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone,"  and 


ALAN  MACGREGOR'S  BROWN  LEG          99 

the  pipes  droned  and  clamored  and  yelped  for 
victory  nearer  and  nearer  all  the  time.  The 
marchers  passed  in  gallant  style.  The  moment 
came  at  last  when,  with  a  defiant  howl  of  the 
pipes,  MacGregor's  company  passed  the  stand, 
and  it  was  now  that,  as  has  been  related,  Agnes 
saw  her  lover,  broad  shouldered,  cleanly  built, 
and  striding  with  the  inherited  gait  of  a  thou- 
sand chieftains.  Eh!  but  he  was  fine!  For 
one  blissful  moment  Agnes  gazed  upon  her 
lover's  figure,  before  she  saw  his  knees.  She 
swooned,  and  the  lady  who  sat  next  her  applied 
her  salts  and  led  her  gently  from  the  scene. 

It  seemed  to  the  Scotchwoman  there  was 
but  one  thing  for  her  to  do.  When  she  re- 
covered sufficiently,  she  wrote  this  letter  to  her 
Alan: 

"Oh,  Alan !  Are  ye  no  patriot,  no  product  of 
the  Scotsmen  of  the  old  time?  And  I,  I  thought 
your  blood  as  blue  as  the  water  in  the  mountain 
lakes  fresh  tinted  from  the  sky.  Oh,  Alan! 
my  Alan!  ye  looked  so  braw,  barrin'  the  black 
breeks  ye  wore  to  protect  the  single  patch  of 
ye  from  the  raw  weather.  Oh,  Alan!  did  our 
stern  ancestors  do  the  like  of  that?  Cared  they 
for  squall  or  flurry  or  the  frost  rime?  Oh,  my 
Alan!  I  love  ye.  Ye  ken  it  well,  but  we  must 


100  THE  CASSOWARY 

not  marry.  Think  ye  I  would  tak  pride  in 
children  of  the  man  of  the  black  breeks?  I'm 
gey — sore  gey!  Your  "AGNES." 

Now  note  what  happened!  Now  pity  me! 
Alan  was  heart-riven  and  wild,  and  came  to  me 
in  his  distress.  I  was  the  only  person  in  the 
great  city  who  could  give  authoritatively  the 
story  of  his  brown  leg.  I  was  the  only  person 
who  could  re-establish  him  in  Agnes'  mind  as 
an  ardent  Scot.  Imagine  a  mission  like  that. 
Imagine  a  man  having  to  go  and  talk  to  a  young 
lady  about  one  of  her  lover's  legs!  I  don't 
know  how  I  did  it,  but  certainly  I  did  it.  I 
want  to  say  here  and  now  and  frankly — and  I 
don't  care  whether  she  reads  it  or  not — that 
when  I  first  met  her,  the  temperature  was  far 
more  sultry  than  we  had  ever  found  it  upon  the 
Amazon.  It  dropped  many  degrees,  though, 
before  my  story  was  concluded. 

Well,  they  have  a  boy  about  two  years  old, 
and  they  have  named  him  after  me.  I  don't 
know  what  I'll  do  to  that  boy.  The  little 
wretch  hugs  me  so  strenuously  that  I  believe 
he  is  part  anaconda. 

And  this  ended  the  story-telling  for  the  day. 
Their  imaginations  had  been  "stretched  enough" 
commented  kindly  Mrs.  Livingston. 


THE  HUGE    HOUND'S    MOOD 

The  morning  of  the  third  day  of  rude  experi- 
ence opened  somewhat  more  brightly  for  "the 
wastrels  of  the  waste/'  as  the  Young  Lady  of 
the  party  very  nicely  designated  them,  for  it 
had  cleared.  There  remained,  however,  the 
thought  that  the  addition  to  the  snowfall  must 
delay  the  work  of  rescue,  an  apprehension  which 
was  soon  confirmed.  Stafford  was  using  the 
telegraph  with  no  inconvenience  now.  He 
had  contrived  to  bring  a  wire  from  the  main 
line  into  the  smoking  car,  and  communication 
from  there  with  those  on  the  relief  train  was  an 
easy  matter.  The  news  that  came  was  not 
exhilarating.  Very  slow  headway  was  being 
made,  so  the  workers  beyond  the  drifts  reported. 
The  railroad  company  had  not  yet  installed  the 
rotary  snow-plows  which,  later,  proved  most 
effective,  hurling  the  snow  to  a  distance  and 
clearing  the  way  thoroughly,  while  the  one  in 
use  but  bored  its  way  through  the  drifts,  only 
to  have  a  part  of  the  tossed-up  mass  come 


101 


102  THE  CASSOWARY 

whelming  back  to  the  track  again.  There  was 
a  vast  amount  of  shovelling  to  do,  and  that 
took  time.  The  resolute  workers  "at  the  other 
end  of  the  trouble,"  as  the  train-men  called  it, 
were  not  discouraged,  but  they  admitted  that 
they  were  not  attending  a  midsummer  picnic. 
In  fact  there  was  no  semblance  of  a  picnic 
about  it.  They  were  not  so  assured  now  that 
release  would  come  to  the  enthralled  on  the 
fourth  day,  at  the  latest.  They  but  expressed 
a  glittering  confidence  that  the  fifth  day, 
beyond  all  doubt,  would  see  the  end.  This 
assurance  by  no  means  satisfied  the  captive 
passengers.  They  felt  that  the  White  Jailor 
still  held  the  keys  and  had  them  in  his  inside 
pocket. 

There  was  much  gossip  over  the  emergency 
line  and,  despite  the  somewhat  oppressive 
news,  there  was  infused  an  element  of  cheerful- 
ness by  this  easy,  sympathetic  communication 
with  the  outside  world.  The  car  in  which 
the  instrument  was  placed  was  a  magnet,  for, 
though  Stafford  was  the  only  one  on  the  train 
possessing  sufficient  experience  to  accomplish 
what  he  had  done,  there  were  some  who  under- 
stood a  little  of  the  science  of  telegraphy  and 
could  receive  and  send  messages,  after  a  fashion. 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD  103 

Communication  between  the  trains  was  going 
on  most  of  the  time. 

Stafford  had  completed  his  work  at  the 
instrument  and  returned  to  his  own  car,  where 
the  usual  group,  with  others  who  had  wandered 
in,  were  assembled,  amusing  themselves  as 
best  they  could  for  the  after-luncheon  hour. 
He  had  noted  the  outline  of  a  woman's  head 
as  he  entered,  and  though  her  face  was  not 
toward  him,  knew  very  well  to  whom  the  fair 
head  belonged.  A  sudden  courageous  impulse 
swayed  him  to  its  way,  an  impulse  for  which 
he  had  reason  to  be  grateful  all  his  life.  He 
advanced  and  seated  himself  directly  across 
the  aisle  from  the  Far  Away  Lady,  who  looked 
at  him  and  smiled  a  quiet  welcome  He  was 
not  quite  himself  as  he  began  talking  to  her, 
but  he  did  well,  under  the  circumstances,  and 
so  did  she.  It  was  a  meeting  as  delicious  as 
constrained,  for  this  was  the  first  occasion  on 
which  they  had  opportunity  to  engage  in  any- 
thing like  a  real  conversation.  Hesitant,  happy 
but,  in  a  vague  way,  apprehensive,  with  a 
trying  past  recalled  by  tones  as  familiar  to 
each  as  if  five  years  were  but  an  hour,  the  two 
exchanged  only  commonplaces  at  first,  comment 
on  the  curious  manner  in  which  they  were  now 


104  THE  CASSOWARY 

held  from  the  rest  of  humanity,  or  speculation 
over  the  immediate  prospect.  It  was  all  com- 
monplace, or  would  have  been  so,  if  either 
been  able  to  veil  the  story  of  the  eyes.  Eyes 
are  faithful  but  sometimes  faithless  servitors, 
meaning  well  and  doing  ill.  None  can  control 
them  absolutely,  lovers  least  of  all. 

And  then  their  misgivingly  sweet  communion 
was  ended  by  what  was  so  inconcieveably 
and  suddenly  alarming  and  dangerous  that 
even  Stafford  was,  for  a  moment,  dazed. 

From  outside  came  the  sound  of  a  wild  yell 
followed  by  what  was  a  man's  shout,  or  rather 
shriek,  of  terror,  then,  commingled  with  a 
fierce  yelp  and  growl,  a  sound  of  clattering 
on  the  car  steps  a  rattling  of  the  door,  its  sudden 
violent  opening,  as  a  man's  form  veered  away 
from  it  and  plunged  into  the  snow  on  the  other 
side,  and  then  the  appearance  of  a  Thing  which 
hesitated  but  a  second,  then  turned  and  entered 
the  car  leapingly,  a  monstrous  brute  with 
fanged  jaws  agape  and  glaring  eyes  and  death 
in  his  fierce  intent.  Not  the  Black  Dog  of  the 
Marshes,  not  Red  Wull,  the  murderer  of  Scot- 
tish sheep,  not  the  Hound  of  the  Baskervilles 
could  have  presented  an  appearance  more 
utterly  demoniacal 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD  105 

There  were  cries  and  shouts  of  alarm  and  the 
occupants  of  the  car  were  on  their  feet  as  the 
great  brute  plunged  forward.  He  saw,  appar- 
ently, but  one  object.  The  Far  Away  Lady 
had  been  sitting  close  to  the  outside  of  her  seat 
and  it  was  her  white,,  startled  face  which  drew 
the  red  eyes  of  the  charging  monster.  Two 
great  leaps  he  made  and  the  third  was  at  her 
throat. 

But  not  so  swift  the  leap  as  that  of  the  man 
opposite  the  imperiled  woman.  As  a  panther 
starts,  Stafford  shot  from  his  place  and  was 
before  her.  With  arm  upraised,  to  shield 
his  throat,  he  met  the  full  impact  of  the  tre- 
mendous force,  staggering  before  it,  but  not 
falling.  Then  began  a  struggle  brief  but  terri- 
fying. 

The  hound's  teeth  found  nothing  as  they  came 
together,  missing  the  fending  left  arm  as  the 
man  thrust  it  forward,  and  coming  together 
viciously  as  the  brute  fell  back  for  an  instant 
and  leaped  again.  This  time  the  arm  was 
siezed  fiercely  as  the  man's  right  hand  grasped 
firmly  the  dog's  throat.  There  was  a  momen- 
tary wrenching  and  swaying,  the  dog's  hold 
on  the  arm  was  lost  and,  at  the  same  instant, 
almost,  the  hand  of  the  arm  released  was  aiding 


106  THE  CASSOWARY 

its  fellow  in  the  throat  grip,  when  the  fierce 
wrestle  became  more  even.  The  dog  writhed 
and  twisted  madly  while  the  man  stood,  pale 
but  firm,  his  legs  braced  against  the  seats  as 
he  sought  a  mastery  of  the  folding  skin  and  to 
bring  his  hands  together  until  they  should  find 
the  windpipe  and  afford  a  chance  of  throttling 
his  powerful  adversary.  The  feat  was  not  an 
easy  one,  for  there  were  great  size  and  the  strength 
of  savage  rage  to  overcome.  Growling  hoarsely, 
foaming  at  the  mouth,  whining  hungrily  in  its 
blood-thirst,  the  brute  surged  forward  again 
and  again,  and  wrenched  and  swayed  in  the 
effort  to  free  himself  from  that  merciless, 
seeking  hold.  So  they  swung  and  tottered  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  at  last,  the  man  found  the 
deadly  grip  he  had  been  feeling  for;  he  had  the 
windpipe  of  the  beast! 

Now  came  another  aspect  to  the  struggle. 
The  hound,  in  peril  now,  no  longer  aggressive, 
tor  the  moment,  was  fighting  for  his  life.  His 
strength  was  going.  With  a  mighty  effort, 
Stafford  swung  him  about  and  backward  against 
the  seat,  gasping  and  gurgling.  With  the 
utmost  strength  of  his  hands  the  man  squeezed 
and  bore  forward,  at  the  same  time,  with  all 
the  weight  and  impulse  of  his  body.  The  dog 


'THE  BIG  BODY  RELAXED  AND  STRAIGHTENED  OUT 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD  107 

twisted  in  frightful  paroxysms,  the  red  tongue 
protruded  and  the  eyes  stared  blindly,  but 
there  was  too  much  vitality  in  the  animal  for 
a  sudden  end  of  all.  Still  the  man  surged 
forward  with  all  his  might,  bearing  so  closely 
that  the  hot  slaver  of  the  beast  was  on  his  cheek 
and  hi  his  hah-.  The  straining  lasted  for  a 
little  time,  and  then  at  last  came  what  was 
certain;  there  was  a  sudden  yielding,  a  great 
final  gasp,  the  big  body  relaxed  and  straightened 
out  and  the  fight  was  over.  Stafford  rose 
weakly  upright,  assisted  by  the  men  who  had 
vainly  sought  opportunity  to  assist  him  in  the 
sudden  fight  and  turned  toward  the  woman 
who  lay  faint  and  white,  against  the  window 
ledge,  with  face  upturned  and  eyes  unseeing. 
They  carried  her  gently  to  her  stateroom. 

There  was  a  rush  of  the  passengers  to  Staf- 
ford's side  and  there  were  showering  thanks  and 
congratulations  and  all  the  exclamatory  com- 
ment which  would  naturally  follow  a  scene  so 
startling  and  with  such  a  termination,  but  one 
man  swept  the  others  aside,  with  suddenly 
acquired  authority,  and  demanded  an  exami- 
nation of  Stafford's  hurt.  It  was  the  physician 
of  the  group,  and  the  wisdom  of  his  action  was 
recognized  at  once.  It  was  found  that  the 


108  THE  CASSOWARY 

dog's  teeth  had  entered  the  fore-arm  deeply, 
but  the  marks  were  clean  and  the  blood  was 
flowing  readily.  "It  would  be  nothing  serious/' 
commented  the  doctor,  "if  it  were  not  for  the 
chance  of  hydrophobia.  Do  you  think  the  dog 
was  mad?"  he  asked  of  Stafford. 

And,  even  as  he  spoke,  something  happened, 
something  which,  as  before,  was  so  unexpected, 
so  alarming,  so  utterly  beyond  all  ordinary 
chance,  as  to  rob  the  men  there  of  the  moment's 
reason.  There  was  a  snarl  like  that  of  a  tiger 
at  their  very  feet  and  the  dog's  neck  upreared 
among  them  fiercely.  He  had  not  been  stran- 
gled utterly  unto  death,  and  had  revived  to 
breath  and  life  again.  His  strength  seemed 
to  return  to  him  instantaneously.  With  a 
growl  which  was  almost  a  roar,  the  beast  surged 
into  the  aisle,  his  glaring  eyes  unseeing  at  first 
but,  as  perception  came  to  them,  discerning 
again  but  a  single  object.  Their  devouring 
intent  was  upon  a  figure  just  entering  the  other 
doorway.  The  animal's  sighted  quarry  was 
the  effervescent  youth  who  had  first  made 
himself  generally  known  on  the  train  because 
of  his  air  of  optimism.  He  had  instant  oppor- 
tunity for  an  exhibition  of  all  his  blithesome 
qualities. 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD      109 

Straight  toward  the  man  the  dog  plunged 
furiously,  in  an  uplifting  leap  which  was  but 
a  hurling  of  himself  squarely  at  his  throat  as 
he  had  leaped  at  that  thinner  one  of  the  Far 
Away  Lady,  but  the  youth  lacked  not  presence 
of  mind,  which  was  illustrated  in  so  diminutive 
a  fraction  of  a  second  as  to  be  practically  un- 
recordable.  Far  and  well  he  sprang  from  the 
steps  of  the  car  and  landed  hi  a  drift  up  to  his 
armpits,  falling  forward  as  the  dog  plunged 
after  him.  The  beast  collided  with  the  railing 
of  the  platform  and  turned  and  rolled  into  the 
snow  as  he  struck  the  earth,  or  as  nearly  the 
earth  as  he  could  go.  The  snow  was  above 
his  head,  and  well  it  was  for  the  pursued  that 
it  was  the  case.  The  man  plunged  ahead, 
hampered,  it  is  true,  but  making  swift  headway 
in  his  alarm,  straight  toward  a  tree  on  the 
ascending  slope,  a  stunted  pine  which  was 
providentially  but  a  few  yards  away,  while 
the  brute  pursuing  him  plunged  wildly  about 
yelping  and  barking,  guided  only  by  scent  and 
sound  in  his  fierce  chase.  The  man  had  the 
advantage  and  what  had  seemed  a  prospective 
tragedy  one  moment  became  something  very 
like  a  comedy  the  next.  It  was  droll  but  well 
was  it  for  the  evading  man  that  the  snow  he 


110  THE  CASSOWARY 

had  lately  been  anathematizing  had  now  be- 
come his  ally  and  protector.  He  reached  the 
tree  not  much  ahead  of  the  raving  dog,  who 
was  at  its  trunk  in  a  moment  as  soon  as  the 
pursued  came  fairly  into  sight,  and  clambering 
to  safety,  upon  a  lower  limb,  not  very  far  up  but 
sufficiently  high  to  assure  him  immunity  from 
the  snapping  jaws  of  the  beast  leaping  upward 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  reach  the  perching  chase. 
The  youth  wound  his  arms  about  the  bole  and 
dangled  his  legs  down  tantalizingly,  meanwhile 
announcing  exuberantly  to  the  people  who  had 
rushed  to  the  platform  that  snow  was  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world,  when  it  was  deep  enough. 
All  would  have  been  over  with  in  a  moment 
and  the  youth  free  to  come  down  from  his  eyrie 
but  for  a  sudden  interruption,  for  half  a  dozen 
of  the  passengers  had,  by  this  time,  secured 
revolvers  from  their  grips  and  were  about  to 
end  at  once  the  career  of  the  raging  animal. 
A  shot,  which  missed  had  already  been  fired 
when  the  voice  of  Stafford  rang  out  sharply: 

"Don't  shoot!  Don't  shoot  the  brute,  yet! 
I  want  to  know  first  whether  or  not  he  is  a  mad 
dog.  Wait  a  few  moments." 

His  request  was  obeyed  unhesitatingly,  all 
recognizing  its  good  sense  and  forethought, 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD      111 

while  the  Gallus  Youth  called  out  cheerily: 
"That's  right.  I'll  amuse  him  here  Mr.  Staf- 
ford while  you  diagnose  his  ailment.  It's  a 
good  idea.  May  save  a  record  case  of  hydro- 
phobia. Try  him  on,  but  look  out,  or  'dar's 
gwine  ter  be  not  only  trubble  in  de  chu'ch  but 
discawd  in  de  choir.' ' 

And  while  the  passengers  crowded  at  the 
windows  and  on  the  platforms,  Stafford  did 
"try  him  on  "  He  sent  for  bread  and  meat  and, 
stepping  down  to  the  lower  step  of  the  car, 
waited  until  the  dog  had  become  silent  for  a 
moment  and  was  gazing  intently  and  watch- 
fully upward  at  his  undestined  prey,  and  then 
called  out,  attracting  his  attention.  There 
was  a  general  shrinking  back,  the  majority  of 
the  passengers  expecting  a  rush  of  the  animal 
toward  the  car  again,  but  to  the  surprise  of 
all  he  did  not  move  as  Stafford  spoke  to  him 
soothingly,  though  he  turned  his  head  and 
showed  his  teeth.  Stafford  leaned  forward  and 
tossed  to  the  dog's  very  feet  the  steaming  meat 
and  other  food  which  had  been  brought  and 
no  sooner  had  the  scent  reached  the  nostrils 
of  the  beast  than,  ignoring  instantly  the  man 
perched  in  the  tree  he  pounced  upon  the  food 
voraciously,  gulping  it  down  as  if  he  had  not 


112  THE  CASSOWARY 

fed  for  months.  Stafford  called  for  more  and 
fed  the  suffering  creature  until  he  would  eat 
no  longer.  Then  he  called  the  dog  to  him,  good- 
naturedly  and  hi  an  ordinary  tone,  and,  as- 
tounding as  it  was  to  all,  the  beast  responded, 
approaching  him  though  somewhat  cautiously. 
Stafford  sent  for  water,  and  finally  the  dog  lap- 
ped it  from  a  pail  in  quantities  which  told  a 
story.  Dumb  animal  though  it  was  upon 
which  they  were  gazing  the  onlookers  could 
not  but  sympathize  with  its  evident  past 
distress  and  recognize  what  had  been  the  nat- 
ural consequence.  Stafford  rose  and  drew  a 
long  breath  of  relief.  Assuredly  he  had  good 
reason.  The  chance  of  hydrophobia  was  past. 
"The  dog  is  not  mad,"  he  said.  "He  was  only 
starving  and  crazed  with  thirst  and  raging 
blindly  at  everything  and  anybody.  I  don't 
blame  the  unreasoning  beast.  How  did  it  hap- 
pen?" 

The  whole  thing  was  soon  made  clear.  The 
dog,  a  dappled  monster  Ulm,  or  Siberian  blood- 
hound, had  been  shipped  from  San  Francisco  to 
the  East  by  an  owner  to  whom  the  hound  was 
as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  It  had  been  confined 
in  the  forward  baggage  car  the  man  in  charge 
of  which  had  been  ill  during  the  train's  im- 


THE  HUGE  HOUND'S  MOOD      113 

prisonment  and  had  forgotten  the  beast  en- 
tirely. The  car  had  not  been  opened  before 
and  the  imprisoned  animal  crazed  by  thirst 
and  hunger,  had  gone  practically  insane  with 
suffering  and,  upon  the  opening  of  the  door, 
had  leaped  out  furiously,  in  pursuit  of  the  first 
object  upon  which  it  could  vent  its  fury.  One 
man's  neglect  had  resulted  in  something  very 
close  to  tragedy. 

Now  the  dog  was  fawning  at  Stafford's  feet. 
He  patted  it  on  the  head  and  the  beast  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  baggage  car  again  where 
it  lay  down  contentedly.  There  was  no  thought 
of  killing  it  now.  As  one  man  said :  "We  may 
be  all  going  mad  ourselves  before  we  get  out  of 
this."  But  he  created  no  apprehension. 

Stafford  returned  to  his  car  and  another  ex- 
amination of  his  hurt  was  made.  The  punc- 
tures in  his  arm  were  treated  by  the  doctor, 
to  avoid  all  chances,  as  he  said,  and  the  epi- 
sode of  the  dog  was  ended. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    SIREN 

The  startling  episode  of  the  attack  of  the  dog 
had  not  sufficed  to  distract  Colonel  Living- 
ston's regard  from  his  manifest  duty  as  guide, 
philosopher  and  friend  to  all  the  incarcerated 
wayfarers.  He  was  too  old  a  campaigner  for 
that.  After  the  confusion  had  ceased  and  com- 
ment on  the  stirring  incident  had  died  away, 
he  looked  about  in  austere  contemplation.  His 
eyes  rested  upon  the  Conductor  and  Porter,  who 
were  discussing  something  together  at  the  end 
of  the  car.  He  acted  promptly. 

"Here,"  he  called  out,  cheerfully  but  imper- 
atively, "if  you  think  that  this  train  crew 
has  but  one  sort  of  responsibility  just  now, 
you  are  mistaken.  Passengers  must,  under 
the  circumstances,  have  even  more  attention 
than  usual.  They  must  be  entertained.  You 
must  each  tell  a  story.  Mr.  Conductor,  I  call 
upon  you  first." 

The  conductor  was  mightily  embarrassed. 
Evidently  story-telling  was  not  his  specialty. 


114 


THE  SIREN  115 

Recognizing,  however,  the  fact  that  there  was 
nothing  for  him  but  submission  to  the  inflexi- 
ble Colonel,  he  succumbed,  red  in  the  face  and 
twisting  nervously  his  short  mustache. 

"I'm  not  much  at  telling  anything,"  he  man- 
aged to  explain,  "and  don't  believe  I  have  any 
story  of  my  own  that  would  be  worth  while, 
but  I  never  hear  the  whistle  cut  loose  that 
I  don't  think  of  what  a  man  I  met  in  San 
Francisco  told  me  of  what  has  been  going  on 
in  one  of  the  big  cities,  and  may  be  going  on  yet 
for  all  I  know.  I  haven't  been  East  of  Denver 
for  a  long  time — that's  the  end  of  my  run — 
and,  it  seems  to  me,  that,  if  what  he  told  me  is 
true,  I'd  have  seen  something  about  it  in  the 
newspapers.  Maybe  not,  though ;  they  miss  lots 
of  things.  Anyhow,  this  is  what  he  told  me — 
and  I'll  try  to  tell  it  just  as  he  did,  even  using 
some  of  his  big  words,  about  what  has  been  hap- 
pening with  a  kind  of  big  whistle  to  help  sailors 
which  they  call, 

THE  SIREN 

Half  a  mile  off  shore,  an  adjunct  of  the  light- 
house, was  the  Siren,  friend  of  mariners  and 
enemy  of  all  the  rest  of  mankind.  When  the  fog 
came  upon  the  face  of  the  waters  and  steamers 


116  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  sailing  vessels,  creeping  fearfully  about 
in  all  directions,  were  in  danger  of  collision, 
with  resultant  horrors,  and  shrieked  out  their 
apprehensions  in  strident  whistlings,  the  Siren 
responded  through  the  opaque  waste  with  a 
warning  howl,  telling  each  seaman  where  he 
was  and  where  was  safety  and  where  was  death. 
It  was  a  howl  of  the  pitch  and  key  best  adapted 
for  reaching  a  great  distance  and  served  its 
purpose  well,  yet  it  was  doleful  as  a  sound  from 
the  tomb  or  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul  with  a  bass 
voice.  But  little  cared  the  fog-fretted  captains 
or  their  crews  or  passengers  for  the  lugubrious- 
ness  of  the  Siren's  call.  As  long  as  the  notes  of 
the  misnamed  fog-horn  indicated  the  path  to 
safety  they  cared  nothing  for  the  quality  of 
the  note. 

In  the  city  which  stood  beside  the  shore,  the 
case  was  different.  People  recognized  the  fact 
that  the  great  water  highways  must  be  made 
safe  and  that  mariners  must  be  protected,  but 
the  burden  of  the  Siren  was  hard  to  bear.  Little 
attention  had  been  paid  to  its  sound  at  first 
but  the  constant  iteration  had  told  upon  mind 
and  body  as  tells  the  constant  falling  of  a 
single  drop  of  water  upon  the  head.  People  were 
seriously  affected.  In  the  foggy  season  strong 


THE  SIREN  117 

men  became  fretful  and  impatient  and  weak 
women  were  compelled  to  seek  the  country.  The 
whole  city  was  threatened  with  an  attack  of 
nervous  debility.  All  night  long,  and  sometimes 
late  into  the  forenoon,  the  fog  would  hang  stub- 
bornly above  the  harbor,  and  all  night  long  and 
far  into  the  daylight,  the  Siren  would  groan  and 
groan  while  the  people  raved.  Sanitariums  did 
a  thriving  business.  Some  sort  of  climax  was 
approaching  when  Hannibal  Perkins  appeared 
from  the  suburbs  upon  the  scene. 

Hannibal  Perkins  was  a  young  man  about 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  He  was  born  "down 
East"  as  he  explained,  and  was  tall  and  gaunt, 
with  pleasant  blue  eyes  and  a  soft  voice.  He 
was  ambitious  and  possessed  of  an  inventive 
genius  which  he  wished  to  cultivate.  He  had 
graduated  from  the  city  high  school  and  desired 
now  to  spend  two  or  three  years  in  a  famous 
scientific  academy,  but  could  not  gratify  his 
wish,  because  of  relative  poverty.  He  helped 
his  father  in  the  work  of  a  small  truck  farm  just 
outside  the  city,  but  there  was  small  yearly  sur- 
plus to  aid  in  the  realization  of  Hannibal's 
hopes  and  plans.  There  was  stuff  in  the  youth, 
though.  Regretting  but  not  dismayed,  Hanni- 
bal worked  doggedly,  ever  planning  as  to  how 


118  THE  CASSOWARY 

he  might  raise  honestly  the  needed  money.  The 
little  farm  lay  close  beside  the  shore  and  at 
night  the  youth's  thoughts  were  frequently 
disturbed,  for  the  Perkin's  family  got  the  full 
benefit  of  the  Siren's  groans. 

Not  only  was  Hannibal  Perkins  an  inventor, 
but  he  had  a  musical  gift  as  well.  He  played 
the  violin  with  skill  and  feeling,  and  had  studied 
with  an  excellent  teacher,  a  friend  of  the  family 
who  had  become  interested  in  Hannibal  and 
given  him  lessons  gratis.  He  possessed  an  ex- 
quisite ear  and  it  is  doubtful  if  hi  all  the  city 
there  was  a  person  who  suffered  more  from  the 
Siren's  dismal  cry  than  did  this  robust  young- 
man.  Night  after  night  he  would  toss  about  in 
his  bed  and  but  endure.  "Is  there  no  way  of 
stopping  it,"  he  thought,  "Cannot  the  same  end 
be  attained  in  some  less  melancholy  and  devas- 
tating way?"  Unable  to  sleep  regularly,  at  last, 
in  desperation  he  set  his  wits  to  work. 

Reading  a  scientific  magazine  one  day,  a 
single  sentence  impressed  itself  upon  Hannibal 
Perkin's  memory:  "It  is  a  well  known  fact  that 
a  musical  sound  can  be  heard  distinctly  at  a 
greater  distance  than  can  an  unmusical  one." 
Hannibal  pondered  much. 

One  night,  either  because  his  nerves  chanced 


THE  SIREN  119 

to  be  a  little  more  nearly  on  edge  than  usual  or 
because  the  Siren  chanced  to  be  in  good  work- 
ing order,  the  sounds  which  came  from  the 
outer  harbor  seemed  to  Hannibal  more  than 
ordinarily  loud  and  mournful  and  appalling. 
He  raged  helplessly.  "What  need  of  so  much 
noise,  and  such  a  noise !"  he  fumed,  but,  sobering 
in  temper  with  reflection,  tried  to  content  him- 
self with  muttering  resignedly:  "I  suppose  it's 
necessary  that  the  thing  should  be  heard  as  far 
away  as  possible," — then  checked  his  muttering 
suddenly.  The  sentence  in  the  scientific  periodi- 
cal had  recurred  to  him.  "It  is  a  well  known 
fact  that  a  musical  sound  can  be  heard  distinctly 
at  a  greater  distance  than  an  unmusical  one." 
He  rose  from  his  bed  and  sat  silent,  with 
wrinkled  brow.  Gradually  the  wrinkles  dis- 
appeared and  a  light  came  into  the  young  man's 
eyes.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  giving  vent  as  he  did 
so  to  the  single,  all  unstudied,  expression 
"B'gosh !"  He  had  learned  it  when  a  boy  "down 
East"  while  working  in  the  fields  with  the  hired 
man. 

For  the  next  two  weeks  Hannibal  Perkins 
did  little  labor  on  the  farm.  His  time  was 
spent  from  daylight  to  dark  in  a  small  lean-to 
which  served  the  double  purpose  of  woodshed 


120  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  workship.  Then  for  another  week,  he  was 
in  town  studying  the  mechanism  of  the  great 
church  organs — instruments  with  which  he 
was  already  tolerably  familiar — and  consult- 
ing with  organ-builders  and  other  craftsmen. 
The  fourth  week  was  spent  in  the  little  shop 
again. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  one  of  the  foggiest 
months  in  the  year  that  Hannibal  Perkins,  hat 
in  hand,  somewhat  abashed,  but  resolute,  en- 
tered the  office  of  the  mayor  of  the  city.  He 
looked  curiously  upon  the  man  seated  at  his 
desk.  He  saw  a  person  of  apparently  strong 
physique,  but  thin  and  pale  and  with  glittering 
eyes,  the  eyes  of  a  victim  of  insomnia.  The 
mayor  wheeled  about  in  his  chair. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  peevishly. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  reception  but,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  man  ordinarily  affable  was 
nervous  and  consequently  irritable.  Hannibal 
resolved  not  to  appear  abashed. 

"It's  about  the  Siren,"  he  said. 

"What!"  The  mayor  was  all  interest  now. 
"What  about  the  Siren?" 

"I  want  to  suggest  a  means  for  getting  rid 
of  the  awful  sounds  which  come  over  the  water 


THE  SIREN  121 

every  night;  to  get  rid  of  them  so  that  the 
people  of  this  city  can  sleep  again." 

The  mayor  stared  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment 
or  two  and  then  spoke  solemnly: 

"Young  man  if  you  can  do  what  you  propose 
you  are  not  unlikely  to  take  my  place  in  this 
seat,  some  day.  You  will  be  the  most  popular 
man  in  the  city.  Look  at  me!  I  weighed  two 
hundred  and  ten  pounds  when  the  Siren  was 
first  placed  in  the  harbor.  Now  I  weigh  a  scant 
one  hundred  and  fifty-six.  There  are  thousands 
of  others  who  have  suffered  in  the  same  way — 
insomnia,  shattered  nerves  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing — and  the  situation  is  growing  worse  in- 
stead of  better.  Only  the  stolid  and  dull  are 
unaffected.  Talk  about  American  restlessness 
and  excitability!  Why,  what  has  been  in  the 
past  will  be  calm  philosophy  compared  with 
what  will  come  in  the  future  when  Sirens  are 
established  in  every  harbor  of  the  country. 
Of  course,  young  man,  I  know  that  you're  only 
a  dreamer,  a  would-be  inventor — you  have  the 
big  full  eyes  of  an  inventor — but  I  don't  feel 
like  being  impatient  with  any  one  whose  efforts 
are  bent  in  a  direction  as  laudable  as  are  yours. 
Tell  me  what  your  particular  dream  is."  And 
the  mayor  leaned  back  wearily. 


122  THE  CASSOWARY 

"But  I'm  not  a  dreamer!"  exclaimed  Hanni- 
bal excitedly.  "I  know  what  I  have  been  doing 
and  what  I'm  talking  about.  I  tell  you  I  can 
get  rid  of  the  ghastly  noise  made  by  the  Siren 
and  yet  have  the  vessels  warned  hi  a  fog  as  well 
as  they  are  now.  Yes,  I'll  warn  them  at  even  a 
greater  distance.  More  than  that,"  and  Hanni- 
bal began  to  get  excited,  "more  than  that,  I'll 
transform  what  is  now  a  source  of  agony  to 
one  of  pleasure.  I  guarantee  it.  I  can  explain 
my  plan  to  you  and  you'll  say  it's  feasible, 
sir-  I  know  you  will!"  and  the  young  man 
paused,  out  of  breath. 

The  mayor's  face  had  taken  on  a  look  of 
patient  endurance.  "Go  ahead,"  he  said,  "and 
show  me  how  the  wheels  work  in  your  head.  I 
hope  it  will  not  take  long." 

Hannibal  paid  no  attention  to  the  sarcasm. 
He  was  too  full  of  his  subject :  "I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Mayor,  that  I've  solved  the  problem.  I've  spent 
weeks  and  weeks  upon  it  and  at  last  I've  got  it. 
I  can  make  it  as  clear  as  day  to  you.  First  I 
want  you  to  hear  this  from  one  of  the  leading 
scientific  magazines  of  the  world,"  and  he  drew 
forth  a  clipping  and  began  to  read — 

"It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  a  musical  sound 


"THE  MAYOR  HAD  BEEN  GETTING  INTERESTED' 


THE  SIREN  123 

can  be  heard  distinctly  at  a  greater  distance 
than  can  an  unmusical  one." 

"There,"  continued  Hannibal  triumphantly, 
as  he  restored  the  clipping  to  his  pocket,  "you 
see  the  point;  you  can  hear  a  musical  sound  at 
a  greater  distance  than  you  can  hear  an  un- 
musical one.  The  dismal  wails  of  the  Siren 
are  not  musical,  but  why  not  make  them  so? 
There's  a  way  and  I  have  found  it." 

The  mayor  was  sitting  erect  in  his  chair,  now. 
He  was  becoming  interested.  "Go  on,"  he  said. 

"Well,"  replied  Hannibal.  "There's  not  much 
more  to  say  at  present.  I've  given  you  the  gen- 
eral idea.  The  principle  is  sound  and  I  know  how 
to  put  the  design  into  execution." 

"Are  you  sure,"  said  the  mayor,  "are  you  very 
sure?"  ' 

"I  am,"  responded  Hannibal. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  the  privilege  of  putting  new  works 
inside  the  Siren,  that's  all." 

"But  the  Siren  is  under  the  control  of  the 
United  States  Government.  How  can  we  get 
permission  for  the  experiment?" 

"Oh,"  said  Hannibal,  cheerfully,  "I've  thought 
all  that  out.  The  government  usually  pays  at- 
tention to  the  advice  of  business  men  of  any 


124  THE  CASSOWARY 

locality  where  it  has  established  something  in 
their  interest.  The  vessel  men  here  are  the  ones 
who  have  influence  in  the  case.  Get  the  vessel 
men  to  endorse  it  and  the  government  will 
consent  to  the  experiment." 

The  mayor  had  been  getting  more  and  more 
interested  as  all  the  bearings  of  the  case  became 
clear  to  him.  The  thing  seemed  practicable, 
and  what  would  not  follow  should  it  really 
prove  a  success !  It  would  redound  to  his  credit 
that  he  had  recognized  the  plan  which  gave  the 
city  peace.  He  reached  a  decision  promptly. 

"I'll  help  you,"  he  declared,  "I'll  call  a  meet- 
ing of  the  vessel  men  for  to-morrow  night. 
You'll  have  to  be  there  to  explain  the  thing  as 
you  have  to  me — more  fully  though.  Does  that 
suit  you?" 

Hannibal  departed  walking  on  air.  Could  he 
convince  the  vessel  men !  He  had  not  the  slight- 
est doubt  of  it. 

He  neither  ate  nor  slept  much  from  the  time 
he  left  the  mayor's  office,  until  on  the  evening 
of  the  next  day  when  he  entered  the  hall  where 
the  vessel  men  were  assembled,  the  mayor  with 
them. 

The  mayor  took  the  chair,  called  the  meeting 
to  order,  explained  briefly  the  proposition 


THE  SIREN  125 

which  had  been  made  to  him,  and  said  that  he 
had  thought  it  best  to  refer  the  suppliant  to 
those  most  vitally  interested  in  the  matter. 
The  inventor  was  present  and  would  make  his 
own  explanation. 

Hannibal  took  the  platform  tremblingly.  He 
had  never  addressed  an  audience  in  his  life,  and 
his  knees  shook  and  there  was  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  At  first  he  could  not  articulate,  but  when 
a  bluff,  red-faced  old  mariner,  taking  pity  on 
him,  called  out — "Don't  be  scared,  young  man; 
take  your  time,"  he  recovered  himself  and  began 
stammeringly.  Gradually  the  words  came  more 
freely.  He  believed  in  his  scheme,  and  that  gave 
him  strength.  He  warmed  to  his  subject  and 
almost  forgot  where  he  was.  He  became  elo- 
quent, in  an  inventor's  way.  He  described  the 
present  horrors  of  the  Siren,  the  condition  of 
the  people,  and  the  prejudice  that  was  growing 
up  in  consequence  against  anything  marine,  a 
prejudice  which  might  in  time  affect  seriously 
the  shipping  interest. 

Then  he  fold  how  much  farther  a  musical 
sound  could  travel  than  could  an  unmusical 
one.  Then  he  outlined  vaguely  the  value  and 
nature  of  his  invention  which  would  substitute 
one  sound  for  the  other,  and  make  of  the  Siren 


126  THE  CASSOWARY 

a  blessing  on  land  as  well  as  on  the  water.  He 
carried  his  audience  with  him  and,  when  he 
closed  his  address,  flushed  and  earnest,  his  hand 
was  grasped  heartily  by  a  large  proportion  of 
those  present.  There  was  a  brief  debate,  but  il 
was  nearly  all  one  way,  and  it  was  decided,  that 
the  Presidents  of  the  Vessel  Owners  Associa- 
tion and  the  Tug  Owners  Association  should 
form  a  committee  of  two,  to  proceed  at  once 
to  Washington  and  there  secure  from  the  right 
department  permission  for  the  trying  of  Han- 
nibal's experiment.  Furthermore  there  was  con- 
tributed on  the  spot  a  sum  sufficient,  in  Han- 
nibal's estimation,  for  the  execution  of  his  plan. 
Within  two  weeks  the  committee  had  made 
its  trip  and  returned  with  the  government's  con- 
sent to  the  undertaking.  Hannibal  went  to 
work. 

It  was  no  simple  task  that  now  faced  the 
young  man,  albeit  the  greatest  obstacle  was 
just  removed.  Sanguine  as  most  inventors 
are,  supplied  with  funds  sufficient  for  his  pur- 
pose, unlimited  as  to  time,  he  yet  realized  a 
certain  gravity  to  the  situation.  He  rented  a 
wing  of  an  old  warehouse,  hired  capable  mechan- 
ics as  assistants  and  plunged  into  his  labor, 
feverishly. 


THE  SIREN  127 

What  is  known  as  the  "orchestrion"  is  a  gi- 
gantic musical  machine  popular  in  summer 
gardens,  restaurants  and  various  similar  places 
of  public  resort.  Perforated  sheets  of  metal 
are  slipped  into  the  machine,  one  after  another, 
and  different  tunes  are  played  according  to 
the  perforations  in  the  metal.  The  basis  of 
Hannibal  Perkin's  idea  was  the  orchestrion, 
with  the  addition  of  certain  adjuncts  of  the 
fog-horn,  to  secure  a  volume  of  sound  equal- 
ing that  which  nightly  woke  the  echoes  and 
everything  else.  Of  course  he  could  not  him- 
self manufacture  perforated  plates  of  the  size 
he  required,  but  a  special  order  to  a  great 
firm  in  the  business  solved  this  part  of  the 
problem  and  a  huge  set  of  circular  plates,  twen- 
ty-five feet  in  diameter,  was  soon  delivered 
at  his  shop.  The  machine  itself  was  all  the  work 
of  Hannibal  and  his  two  assistants.  The  day 
came  when  the  thing  was  done  and  the  monster 
orchestrion,  or  whatever  it  might  be  called, 
was  loaded  on  a  barge  and  towed  to  the  light- 
house where  the  siren  was  about  to  be  deposed. 
To  make  the  proper  attachments  for  the  or- 
chestrion— which  did  not  get  its  power  from 
winding  up  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  by  a  steam 
arrangement — was  a  work  of  time,  for  just  here 


128  THE  CASSOWARY 

was  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  undertaking, 
and  where  the  inventive  genius  of  Hannibal 
Perkins  shone  out  most  brilliantly.  It  was  a 
new  departure  but  it  was  all  right  in  principle, 
as  Hannibal  had  maintained,  and  the  day  came 
when  he  announced  that,  when  the  fog  fell 
that  night,  a  new  Siren,  one  with  a  voice  such 
as  was  never  heard  before  on  sea  or  shore,  would 
call  across  the  waters  to  belated  vessel  men. 
Night  came  and  the  fog  came  with  it.  Dim- 
mer and  dimmer  grew  the  flashes  from  the 
lighthouse  lantern  until,  at  last,  they  could 
no  longer  be  distinguished  from  the  shore,  and 
then,  to  the  people  of  the  great  city  came  a 
sensation. 

"Chippie,  get  your  hair  cut,  hair  cut,  hair  cut, 
Chippie,  get  your  hair  cut,  hair  cut  short." 

Loud  and  clear  from  away  out  in  the  harbor 
came  the  notes  of  the  rollicking  tune,  once  so 
generally  popular.  The  atmosphere  was  fairly 
saturated  with  it.  Never  had  even  the  howl  of 
the  detested  Siren  so  thoroughly  permeated 
every  outdoor  nook  and  cranny  of  the  town. 
The  moving  multitudes  on  the  brilliantly  light- 
ed streets  paused  and  listened,  and  as  they 
stood  there,  lost  and  curious,  the  same  sweet 


THE  SIREN  129 

but  tremendous  voice  informed  them  affably: 

"There'll  be  a  hot  time, 
In  the  old  town  to-night." 

Evidently  this  spirit  of  the  waters,  was  of 
a  lively,  not  to  say  hilarious,  disposition — at 
least  that  was  the  first  impression  given — but 
as  the  hours  passed,  the  music  changed  in 
character,  and  it  finally  dawned  upon  the  pop- 
ulace that  there  was  method  hi  the  madness 
of  the  Siren — for  the  news  had  flown  rapidly 
of  what  the  wonder  was — gentler  airs  succeeded 
until  the  hour  when  the  young  men  calling 
should  go  home,  when  apparently  impersonating 
all  the  young  women  in  the  city,  the  Siren 
spoke  softly: 

"Bid  me  good-bye  and  go!" 

and,  later,  as  the  time  came  when  erring  heads 
of  families  might  be  lingering  out  too  late  for 
their  own  good,  the  mentor  started  in  with — 

"Oh,  Willie,  we  have  missed  you!" 

and,  a  little  later,  after  apparent  consideration, 
wailed  out  despairingly: 

"Oh,  father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  now." 

It  was  charming!  Still  later,  came  soothing, 
familiar  airs  in  a  minor  key,  such  as  were 
sleep-encouraging,  and  there  was  no  variation 


130  THE  CASSOWARY 

from  this  until  six  a.m.,  when  there  was  an 
outbreak : 

"I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up 
this  morning! 

The  sergeant's  worse  than  the  private, 

The  captain's  worse  than  the  sergeantl 

The  major's  worse  than  the  captain, 

The  colonel's  the  worst  of  'em  all! 

I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up 
to-day!" 

Ringing  out  over  all  the  city  was  the  re- 
veille, but,  as  if  in  drowsy  answer  came  a  little 
later,  almost  like  an  echo — the  lazy,  listless, 

"Let  me  dream  again." 

Evidently  not  what  was  approved  of,  for, 
sharply  and  indignantly,  followed  the  peremp- 
tory demand  to — 

"Take  your  clothes  and  go." 

And  so,  until  the  fog  lifted,  continued  the 
interesting  programme  of  the  Siren.  The  people 
were  delighted.  No  more  was  the  name  of  the 
"Siren"  a  misnomer.  The  newspapers  were  full 
of  praise  of  Hannibal  Perkins,  the  inventor, 
and  a  dream,  for  once,  was  realized.  Improve- 
ments were  made  by  the  elated  genius.  People 
in  the  city  soon  perceived  that  certain  airs  were 
played  only  at  certain  hours,  so  that  one  could 
tell  what  time  of  night  it  was  while  lying  com- 


THE  SIREN  131 

fortably  in  bed.  The  invention  was  recognized 
as  a  boon  to  the  community.  The  Board  of 
Trade  voted  a  neat  lump  sum  to  Hannibal 
Perkins,  he  was  elected  member  of  numerous 
scientific  and  musical  societies,  and  negotiations 
were  begun  with  the  government  looking  to  the 
introduction  of  the  Siren  in  harbors  everywhere. 
Now  comes  reference  to  the  action  of  a  law  of 
nature  which  has  always  been  accounted  curi- 
ous, that  law  which  is  in  direct  contradiction  of 
the  old  and  popular  saying  that  one  cannot  have 
too  much  of  a  good  thing.  The  months  passed, 
months  of  triumph  and  elation  for  Hannibal 
Perkins,  and,  at  first,  of  enjoyment  for  those  on 
land.  Then  in  the  city  came  a  gradual  change, 
though  Hannibal,  in  the  lighthouse,  was  not 
aware  of  it.  There  arose  an  anti-Siren  party, 
and  a  clamorous  one !  It  was  the  old  story — they 
were  "tired"  of  the  same  old  tunes.  They  were 
all  antiquated  things  it  was  declared.  It  was 
the  result  of  that  quality  in  the  human  ear  and 
human  nerves  which  enables  them  to  endure  the 
continual  passing  of  a  railroad  train,  but  not  the 
too  frequent  repetition  of  a  musical  air.  Even 
an  effort  to  remedy  this  fault  did  not  avail. 
There  came  two  dread  November  weeks  of 
almost  continual  fog,  day  and  night,  and,  as  the 


132  THE  CASSOWARY 

Siren  gave  four  tunes  an  hour  for  variety's  sake, 
it  necessarily  played  ninety-six  tunes  a  day,  and 
there  weren't  enough  popular  airs  in  existence 
to  keep  this  up  without  constant  duplication, 
or  worse !  A  new  form  of  nervousness  was  seiz- 
ing upon  the  multitude.  Even  the  mayor,  who 
had  grown  fat,  was  getting  thin  again. 

On  the  other  hand  the  Siren  had  a  powerful 
supporting  force  in  the  officers  and  crews  of 
every  vessel  entering  the  harbor.  Most  delight- 
ful was  it  to  those  gallant  seamen,  when  the  fog 
lay  dense  and  sinister,  to  hear,  at  a  greater  dis- 
tance from  land  than  ever  before,  the  sounds 
which  guided  them  to  safety  and,  at  the  same 
time,  to  recognize  and  be  cheered  by  the  notes 
of  some  familiar  air.  They  heard  the  Siren  only 
occasionally  and  to  them  there  was  no  mon- 
otony. The  whole  shipping  interest  arose  fig- 
uratively in  arms  against  those  who  objected 
to  the  new  order  of  things. 

And  so  the  case  stands  now.  The  government 
is  considering  the  matter.  Doubtless  the  Perkins 
Siren  will,  in  the  end,  be  adopted — with  modifi- 
cations and  restrictions.  Hannibal  Perkins  is 
pondering  over  the  question  of  why  people  get 
so  maddeningly  tired  of  a  piece  of  music,  from 
some  favorite  of  the  operas  down  to  the  latest 


THE  SIREN  133 

bit  of  "rag-time."  They  do  not  get  tired  of 
bread  and  beefsteak!  Is  the  palate  wiser  than 
the  ear?  Even  Hannibal  Perkins  cannot  answer 
that  question.  Human  nature  is  odd. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  PORTER'S  STORY 

From  the  beginning  of  the  train's  delay  the 
porter  of  the  sleeping  car  had  attracted  at- 
tention unostentatiously.  This  expression  per- 
haps best  describes  the  man's  demeanor.  He 
was,  apparently,  not  much  over  thirty  years 
of  age,  and  a  white  man,  but  for  that  indefin- 
able something  which  manifests  itself  in  the 
bearing  of  a  human  being  who,  by  unfortunate 
stress  of  circumstances,  is  fighting  the  world 
at  a  disadvantage.  He  was  a  blonde  man, 
six  feet  in  height.  There  was  to  his  bearing 
a  certain  dignity.  Yet,  he  was  the  porter 
of  the  car!  It  followed,  as  a  practical  cer- 
tainty, that  he  was  of  African  descent,  however 
much  of  his  blood  had  come  in  the  interming- 
ling with  a  preponderence  in  favor  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon. 

He  looked  like  a  Viking,  one  of  those  who 
sometimes  sailed  down  to  Africa,  after  rav- 
aging the  Seine  Valley,  and  taking  toll  of  the 
monasteries  and  castles  of  the  Spanish  Penin- 

134 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  135 

sula  en  route, — but  certainly  not  like  one  whose 
real  ancestors,  those  who  made  the  man,  could 
have  been  African.  The  Colonel  had  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  this  big  blonde  man  was  one 
of  Nature's  mistakes  in  production  under  too 
sinister  surroundings,  and  saw,  too,  that  there 
was  a  story  which  might  be  told  readily  and 
impulsively  and  forcefully,  and,  perhaps  most 
interestingly,  under  some  momentum  of  the 
hour  He  decided  this  to  be  the  psychological 
moment. 

"Will  you  not  give  us  a  story,  now,  John?" 
he  said — he  had  learned  the  porter's  name  the 
day  before,  but  half  hesitated  at  the  familiar- 
ity— "I've  a  fancy  you  may  have  more  to  tell 
than  any  of  the  rest  of  us.  Will  you  let  us 
know  what  it  is?" 

The  porter  glanced  at  him  curiously  but  not 
in  any  protesting  way.  It  could  be  seen  that 
he  recognized  in  the  other  man,  a  sympathizing 
human  being  and  he  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"I  will  tell  you  the  story,"  he  said,slowly, 
"though,  really,  save  as  possibly  amusing  some- 
body for  the  moment,  I  scarcely  see  the  object, 
but  it  may  be  that  it  will  afford  me  a  little  re- 
lief personally.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't 
know  that  I've  ever  had  a  chance  to  tell  my 


136  THE  CASSOWARY 

story  to  intelligent  human  beings  under  any- 
thing like  fair  auspices.  I'm  going  to  tell 
it  simply  and  truly.  I'll  leave  the  verdict 
to  you.  Your  verdict  cannot  help  me  any, 
for  you  are  as  weak  as  I  am  in  this  case,  but 
this  is  the  story: 

HIS  PROBLEM 

Is  it  well  for  me  that  I  am  a  product  of  a 
University,  that  I  am  what  I  am? 

Some  time  ago  I  read  an  exceedingly  clever 
poem  in  some  magazine,  describing  the  suffer- 
ings of  Pierrot,  that  inimitable  and  fascinating 
French  modification  of  Harlequin,  ever  vainly 
seeking  his  elusive  Columbine, 

"I,  who  am  Pierrot,  pity  me!  Oh  pity  me!" 
he  cries  in  his  helpless  desire  for  sympathy. 
Sometimes  I  feel  like  Pierrot,  though  my  suf- 
fering is  not  as  his. 

I  hesitate,  somehow,  at  telling  my  own 
story  lest  I  be  misunderstood  or  offend  hi  some 
manner.  I  have  some  courage  and  I'm  not 
asking  sympathy  in  any  weak  or  maudlin  way. 
I  am  but  stating  a  case,  a  case  with  a  problem 
attached  and  one  which  I  have,  so  far,  been 
unable  to  solve,  though  the  quality  of  my  life 
must  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  solution. 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  137 

I  am  neither  whining  nor  begging.  The  story 
may  or  may  not  possess  a  degree  of  interest. 
I  wish  I  could  tell  it  better, 

I  am  thirty-four  years  of  age,  and  I  think  I 
can  fairly  say,  am  well  educated;  so  thorough 
was  my  college  course  and  so  diligently  did  I 
apply  myself,  that  I  excel  most  graduates  in 
the  extent  of  my  real  acquirements.  I  have  for- 
gotten neither  my  classics  nor  my  mathematics 
and  I  read  and  speak  French  and  German  fluent- 
ly. I  keep  myself  familiar  with  what  occurs  in 
the  field  of  literature.  I  chance  to  have  a  reten- 
tive memory  and  my  perceptions  are,  it  seems  to 
me,  at  least  reasonabty  keen. 

I  am  six  feet  in  height  and,  absurd  as  it  may 
seem  in  me  to  say  it,  am  a  well  formed,  well 
set  up  man.  I  have  clean  cut  features,  rather 
aquiline  than  otherwise,  grey  eyes,  light  hair, 
which  curls  slightly,  and  a  fab*  complexion.  I 
am  an  athlete,  trained  from  boyhood,  and  have 
borne  myself,  I  hope,  as  a  man  should  in  en- 
counters in  the  southwest,  where  brawn  has  for 
the  moment  counted  for  more  than  brains.  I 
describe  myself  thus  directly,  but  not  conceit- 
edly, because  I  want  to  be  known  as  you  see  me, 
for  just  what  I  am.  To  discredit  myself  unjustly 
in  the  least,  to  tell  less  than  the  truth,  would 


138  THE  CASSOWARY 

mar  the  justice  of  the  premises  upon  which  I 
make  my  case  and  from  which  I  make  clear,  or 
at  least  try  to  make  clear,  the  nature  of  the 
problem  which  has  proved  too  difficult  for  me. 

I  have  had  ambitions,  hopes  and  love.  I 
have  known  men  and  women.  I  have  become 
familiar  with  the  affairs  of  the  world.  I  am  nat- 
urally of  a  buoyant  and  hopeful  disposition  and 
yet  I,  a  strong  man,  am  to-day  perplexed,  sad, 
almost  hopeless.  I  have  no  incumbrances.  A 
healthy,  educated  man  of  thirty-four,  with  no 
burden  of  the  ordinary  sort,  and  yet  disheart- 
ened !  I  can  imagine  you  saying,  with  an  inflec- 
tion of  either  pity  or  contempt.  Well,  what  I 
have  told  of  myself  is  the  truth  and  I  must  take 
the  consequences. 

I  was  born  in  one  of  the  southern  states.  One 
of  my  grandfathers  was  a  man  of  standing,  and 
one  of  my  grandmothers  was,  I  am  told,  a  very 
beautiful  woman.  My  father  was  also  a  man  of 
note,  a  distinguished  officer  in  the  civil  war  who 
did  well  hi  battle.  My  mother  was  a  woman  of 
exceptional  charms  of  person  and  character,  but 
died  when  I  was  a  mere  child.  I  was  educated 
by  a  wealthy  brother  of  my  father,  who  chanced 
to  take  an  interest  in  me.  Until  the  age  of  twelve 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  139 

I  was  the  almost  constant  companion  of  his 
own  son. 

At  the  age  of  twelve,  my  cousin  and  I  who  had 
been  so  much  together  were  separated,  he  going 
to  a  school  in  one  of  the  great  cities,  I  to  one  in 
a  smaller  town.  After  graduation  at  school  we 
were  each  sent  to  college.  My  cousin  went  to 
one  of  the  great  universities  and  I  was  sent  to 
one  of  the  smaller  colleges  of  the  country,  but 
one  where  the  curriculum  was  extensive  and 
the  requirements  severe.  I  studied  hard  and 
graduated  in  the  same  year  with  my  cousin.  We 
met  again  at  the  old  homestead  and  I  found 
that,  because  of  my  close  attention  to  my  stud- 
ies, perhaps,  too,  because  of  a  somewhat  quick- 
er apprehension,  I  excelled  him  decidedly  in 
acquirements.  We  passed  a  not  unpleasant 
month  together,  hunting  and  fishing  in  the  old 
way,  but,  somehow,  it  was  not  the  same  as  it 
had  been  when  we  were  boys  together.  I  noticed 
a  change  in  my  cousin's  demeanor  toward  me. 
His  manner  was  not  unkindly,  for  he  is  one  of 
the  best  and  most  generous  of  men,  but  there 
was  a  certain  change,  a  certain  distance  of  air 
which  made  it  plain  to  me  that  we  could  never 
again  be  to  each  other  what  we  had  been  as 
boys  in  the  past.  We  separated  each  to  go  out 


140  THE  CASSOWARY 

into  the  world  to  struggle  for  himself;  I,  alone; 
he,  with  the  influential  family  and  a  host  of  in- 
fluential friends  behind  him.  I  have  never  seen 
him  since. 

Equipped  as  I  was  the  natural  course  for  me 
to  pursue  seemed  to  be  to  adopt  for  a  time  the 
work  of  teaching,  not  that  I  inclined  toward  it, 
but  because  it  afforded  opportunity  to  acquire 
a  little  capital  which  might  enable  me  to  take 
up  a  profession.  I  secured  a  school  without 
much  difficulty  in  a  thriving  southwestern 
town,  and  at  the  end  of  a  course  of  three  years 
had  saved  several  hundred  dollars.  With  the 
money  thus  obtained,  I  graduated  at  a  famous 
law  school,  after  which  I  studied  diligently  for 
a  year  in  the  office  of  a  prominent  attorney. 
I  was  clerk,  porter,  office  boy,  everything 
about  the  office,  but  the  distinguished  lawyer 
did  me  the  honor,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  to 
say  that  I  was  the  most  thorough  student  he  had 
ever  assisted  and  prophesied  flatteringly  as  to 
my  future.  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar  with 
compliments  from  the  examining  judges  as 
to  my  knowledge  of  the  law.  I  at  once  estab- 
lished an  office  in  a  .town  of  about  two  thousand 
people,  where  the  outlook  seemed  exceptionally 
piomising.  I  was  entirely  unknown  in  the  little 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  141 

city,  but  for  two  years  I  prospered  beyond  my 
expectations.  I  knew  the  law  and,  as  the  event 
showed,  I  was  strong  with  juries,  possessing  the 
power  of  interesting  and  winning  the  confidence 
of  men  to  an  exceptional  degree.  I  won  a  num- 
ber of  cases,  some  of  them  important  ones.  I 
became  known  in  the  town  and  in  the  surround- 
ing district  as  a  public  speaker  of  force  and  elo- 
quence. Upon  the  lecture  platform  or  political 
rostrum  I  felt  as  potent  and  at  ease  as  in  the 
court  room.  My  future  seemed  assured.  I  found 
friends  among  the  best  people,  my  income  was 
more  than  sufficient  for  my  needs ;  in  my  rooms 
I  was  accumulating  books  of  the  world's  litera- 
ture. My  law  library  was  the  best  in  the  county. 
In  all  things  I  was  flourishing  and  the  world 
looked  bright  to  me. 

One  day  there  came  to  the  town  wherein  I  had 
established  myself  a  young  man  who  had  been 
in  college  with  me.  I  was  glad  to  see  him  and 
did  what  I  could  for  him  during  his  stay,  though 
we  were  unlike  in  temperament  and  tastes,  and 
his  associates  and  friends  had  all  been  different 
from  mine.  He  soon  left  the  place,  and,  not  long 
after,  I  noticed  a  surprising  change  in  the  man- 
ner of  the  people  toward  me.  I  no  longer  re- 
ceived invitations  to  dinner  nor  to  social  gather- 


142  THE  CASSOWARY 

ings.  No  reason  was  given  me  for  the  freezing 
indifference  with  which  I  was  treated  by  my 
former  friends.  What  was,  from  one  point  of 
view,  a  matter  of  as  much  importance,  my 
business  began  to  drop  off;  men  who  had  placed 
their  legal  affairs  in  my  hands  no  longer  sought 
me  for  advice  and  only  an  occasional  petty  case 
in  some  justice's  court  came  to  afford  me  a 
livelihood.  After  a  vain  struggle  with  these 
intolerable  conditions  I  gave  up.  I  closed  my 
office  and  left  the  city. 

It  was  early  in  June,  that  year  when  I  left 
the  place  where  I  had  hoped  to  become  a  life- 
long resident  and  useful  citizen. 

I  drifted  east  and  found  myself  in  Boston. 
There  I  met  two  young  men,  seniors  in  college, 
but  poor,  who  had  engaged  themselves  as  men 
of  ,all  work — partly  as  a  midsummer  lark,  but 
chiefly  for  the  money  to  be  gained — to  work  in 
a  great  summer  hotel  in  the  mountains.  A 
third  man  was  needed,  and  they  asked  me  if  I 
would  not  go  with  them.  I  was  ready  for  any- 
thing, and  accepted  the  invitation. 

The  hotel  was  one  of  the  largest  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  numerous  guests  included  wealthy 
and  distinguished  families  from  all  parts  of  the 
country.  That  we  were  college-bred  men  and 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  143 

had  students'  ambitions  also  became  known, 
and  it  came  to  pass,  at  last,  that  our  duties  for 
the  day  accomplished,  we  appeared  in  evening 
dress,  and  joined  in  the  evening's  amusements, 
laughed  at  in  a  friendly  way,  and  jesting  our- 
selves in  return. 

I  cannot  go  into  further  details  of  the  hap- 
penings of  that  summer  at  the  mountain  re- 
sort, where  all  was  healthy  and  healthful  ex- 
cept my  own  mentality,  which  had  been  made 
what  it  was  by  conditions  over  which  I  had 
no  control.  I  prayed,  and  prayer,  while  it 
strengthened  me,  did  not  help  me  bow  to  the 
injustice  under  which  I  suffered.  I  thought 
and  tried  to  find  what  a  logical  brain,  a  broad 
view  of  things,  and  a  keen  intelligence  might 
do,  and  that  did  not  help  me.  Ever,  ever 
came  the  same  inevitable  deduction.  I  was  a 
hunted  wretch,  pursued  by  a  social  and  partly 
natural  law,  driven  ever  into  a  cu"  de  sac,  into 
a  side  gorge  in  the  mountains  of  life,  a  short 
gorge  with  precipitous  walls  on  either  side  and 
ending  suddenly  and  briefly  in  a  wall  as  per- 
pendicular and  high  and  smooth.  True,  I 
had  for  the  moment  escaped,  for  the  instant  I 
was  free,  but  I  knew  that  soon,  inevitably, 
the  cordon  would  hem  me  in  and  that  I  would 


144  THE  CASSOWARY 

be  at  the  mercy  of  the  pursuers — the  unma- 
licious  but  instinctively  impelled  pursuers. 
Then  came  a  respite  from  the  torturing  thought, 
a  forgetfulness  for  the  moment,  a  forgetfulness 
to  be  paid  for. 

I  was  the  man  with  the  boats  and,  as  well  the 
guide  who  conducted  individuals  or  parties  to 
and  from  all  the  picturesque  or  curious  spots  of 
the  wild  region  round  about  the  summer  resort 
which  shrewd  capitalists  had  implanted  in  the 
heart  of  nature.  So  it  came  that  I  met  all,  or 
nearly  all  the  guests,  groups  who  had  chaffed  at 
me,  and  yet,  knowing  my  status,  made  me  one  of 
them.  Strong  young  men  and  good  ones  made 
me  a  comrade,  fathers  and  mothers  of  broods 
of  little  children  leaned  on  me,  and  at  last 
and  worse  in  the  end,  the  occasional  woman 
who  thought  for  herself,  knew  nature  for  her- 
self and  wanted  but  to  go  out  alone  to  meet 
her  sister,  that  same  Nature,  became  my  com- 
panion. There  was  one  among  those  who,  to 
me,  was  above  the  other  women.  There  was 
one  among  those— may  the  good  God  ever 
have  her  in  his  keeping — who,  from  no  thought 
or  fault  of  hers,  has  given  me  the  greatest  vis- 
ion of  happiness  and  also  such  sorrow  as  few 
men  know. 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  145 

Then  I  seemed  to  live  for  the  first  time  and 
now  it  is  still  a  thought  deep  in  my  mind  that 
it  was  my  only  taste  of  real  life  when  I  held 
communion  on  lake  and  shore  in  that  enchant- 
ed summer  with  the  woman  who  held  my  heart 
in  her  white  hands.  No  doubt  I  was  guilty, 
frightfully  guilty.  What  right  has  a  pariah 
in  a  world  of  caste?  But  I  am  a  human.  I 
drifted  and  drifted.  I  cannot  analyze  my 
own  feelings  at  the  time.  I  knew  that  I  was 
good  and  honest  and  as  real  in  mind  as  she 
and  yet,  even  then,  I  think  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
some  vagrant  who  had  wandered  into  a  church 
and  was  inanely  fumbling  at  the  altar-cloth. 

Like  every  other  rainbow  that  ever  spanned 
my  miserable  sky  it  disappeared,  not  gradually, 
as  do  other  rainbows  when  the  clouds  part 
slowly  and  the  sun  shines  out  between  them, 
but  suddenly,  leaving  blackness.  One  wild 
but  simply  honest  letter  I  wrote  telling  all 
things,  and  then  came  silence.  There  was 
only  the  information  that  one  fair  guest  of  the 
great  summer  resort  had  departed  suddenly. 

Yet  in  my  letter  I  had  told  of  nothing  but 
a  life  of  steadfast  honor,  principle,  and  high 
ambition  and  endeavor;  I  began  to  lose  heart. 
I  am  a  wanderer.  What  am  I  to  do?  I  am  a 


146  THE  CASSOWARY 

man  without  a  country  as  much  as  was  poor 
Nolan  in  Edward  Everett  Hale's  immortal 
story,  though  unlike  Nolan,  I  am  blameless 
of  even  a  moment's  lapse  of  patriotism.  I 
am  without  a  country  because  my  country 
will  not  give  me  what  it  gives  to  other  men. 
I  am  even  without  a  race,  for  that  to  which 
I  really  belong  neglects  me  and  with  that  into 
which  my  own  would  thrust  me  I  have  noth- 
ing in  common.  The  presence  of  a  faint  strain 
of  alien  blood  is  killing  me  by  inches. 

I  am  not  black,  I  am  white.  Does  one  part 
of,  perhaps,  some  African  chieftain's  blood 
offset  thirty-one  of  white  blood  from  good 
ancestors?  I  do  not  believe  in  miscegenation. 
There  is  some  subtle  underlying  law  of  God 
and  nature  which  forbids  the  close  contact  in 
any  way  of  the  different  races.  It  is  to  me  a 
horror.  But  I  am  not  black,  I  am  white.  A 
negro  woman  is  to  me  as  she  is  to  any  other 
white  man.  A  negro  man  is  to  me  as  of  a 
strange  race.  A  white  man  is  to  me  my  brother. 
All  my  thoughts,  all  my  yearnings,  are  to  be 
with  him,  to  talk  with  him,  to  sympathize  with 
him  in  all  the  affairs  of  life,  to  help  him  and 
have  him  help  me,  to  go  to  war  with  him,  if 
need  be,  to  die  by  his  side.  I  am  a  white  man. 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  147 

But  there  is  that  one  thirty-second  of  pariah 
blood.  "Pity  me,  oh  pity  me." 

As  I  have  said,  I  began  to  lose  heart.  There 
is  no  need  to  tell  all  the  story.  I  remember 
it  all.  One  or  two  incidents  suffice  to  show  the 
way  I  have  traveled. 

Once  hi  an  eastern  city,  I  obtained  work 
as  a  brakeman  on  a  freight  train  on  the  railway. 
At  first  .my  fellow  workers  received  me  well, 
named  me  Byron,  some  knowing  me  among 
them,  with  rude  but  kindly  chaffing  at  my 
pale  face  and  studious  habits,  for  when  not 
at  work  I  had  ever  a  book  in  my  hand. 

One  day,  while  we  were  waiting  on  a  siding 
near  a  small  station,  a  tramp  recognized  me. 
He  was  a  man  I  had  defended  in  court  for  some 
small  offense,  in  the  distant  western  town  where 
I  practiced  law.  I  had  him  kept  out  of  jail  by 
my  pleading.  I  had  believed  that  his  arrest 
and  trial  would  be  a  lesson  such  as  would  keep 
him  from  the  idle  and  vicious  ways  he  was  just 
beginning  to  follow  at  that  time. 

The  tramp  rode  a  few  miles  on  our  train. 
After  that  the  train  crew  ceased  to  consort  with 
me.  They  looked  sullenly  upon  me  and  mut- 
tered among  themselves  when  I  came  near  them. 
The  engineer  looked  the  other  way  when  he 


148  THE  CASSOWARY 

had  to  speak  to  me.  His  face  was  grim  and 
sad,  as  well,  but  he  looked  the  other  way. 
There  was  no  outbreak,  but  I  could  not  endure 
my  position.  I  left  the  railroad  work  as  soon 
as  our  train  arrived  in  the  city  where  the  com- 
pany made  its  headquarters. 

Once  again,  some  years  after  the  railway 
episode,  I  thought  to  work  on  a  street-car  line. 
I  applied  for  the  position  of  motorman,  and 
was  well  received  by  the  superintendent  to 
whom  I  reported  after  he  had  in  reply  to  my 
letter,  asked  me  to  call  at  his  office.  I  gave, 
at  his  request,  the  names  of  a  half  a  dozen 
responsible  men  as  references  as  to  my  character 
and  responsibility*  I  arranged  with  a  security 
company  for  giving  the  required  bond,  and  was 
told  that  as  soon  as  favorable  answers  were 
received  from  my  friends  I  would  be  put  to 
practice  work;  I  felt  assured  of  a  position, 
laborious  and  nerve  testing,  it  is  true,  but 
respectable  and  reasonable  well  paid. 

After  two  weeks  I  called  upon  the  superin- 
tendent again,  although  he  had  not  written, 
as  he  promised  to  do,  after  hearing  from  the 
men  I  had  referred  him  to. 

He  was  a  hard  man  of  business,  that  super- 
intendent, but  he  spoke  to  me  kindly,  regret- 


THE  PORTER'S  STORY  149 

fully,  almost  shamefacedly.  The  testimonials 
to  my  character  and  life  were,  he  said,  very 
flattering  to  me.  No  one  had  said  anything  but 
good  of  me.  But  it  would  never  do,  he  ex- 
plained, for  me  to  be  set  to  work  on  the  road. 
The  men  would  be  sure  to  find  out  the  truth 
about  me,  sooner  or  later,  and  then  the  officials 
of  the  road  would  be  blamed.  There  was  sure 
to  be  trouble.  Personally,  the  superintendent 
had,  he  said,  no  "race  prejudices,"  but  he  could 
not  answer  for  the  feelings  of  others  less  free 
from  the  influence  of  tradition  and  natural 
aversion. 

I  stood  silent  while  the  man  of  my  own  race 
calmly,  even  tenderly,  waved  me  back  into  the 
ranks  of  a  people  of  whose  blood  a  few  drops 
only  run  in  my  veins.  So  another  gate  was 
closed.  So  I  was  once  more  forced  into  the 
narrow  bounds  of  an  invisible  prison. 

My  mother  had  one-sixteenth  of  negro  blood 
in  her  veins  and  was  a  slave.  Now  what 
explains  my  most  unfortunate  condition?  Is 
it  because  this  ancestor  had  this  trace  of  the 
blood  of  another  race,  and  that  I  have  one 
thirty-second  part  of  the  same  blood,  though 
I  chance  to  be  whiter  than  most  Caucasians? 
Well,  God  made  the  races.  Is  it  because 


150  THE  CASSOWARY 

this  ancestor  was  a  slave?  So  were  the  Britons 
slaves  of  the  Romans.  My  father  was  a  de- 
scendant of  some  slave.  He  is  not  responsible 
for  the  chase  of  his  mother  in  ancient  woods  and 
for  her  capture  by  some  fierce  avaricious  Roman 
legionary  who  knew  the  value  of  a  breeder  of 
sturdy  Teutonic  brawn  in  making  Roman  high- 
ways. It  was  through  no  fault  of  mine  that  the 
Arab  trader  chased  my  great-great-great-grand- 
mother or  grandfather  down  hi  the  jungle  and 
sold  her  to  the  sallow-faced  slave  dealer  who 
brought  her  to  America.  The  blood  of  my 
father's  ancestors  became  intermixed  with  that 
of  the  captors.  My  father's  race  became  free. 
So  has  mine.  The  difference  is  but  in  time. 
Why  is  it,  then,  that  I  am  as  I  am?  I  do  not 
want  to  become  a  barber,  nor  a  porter,  nor  an 
attendant  in  a  Turkish  bath,  nor  to  serve  other 
men.  I  do  not  want  to  work  upon  the  streets, 
though  I  am  not  afraid  of  manual  labor  nor  do 
I  count  it  dishonorable.  But  I  am  a  cultivated 
man,  a  man  skilled  in  a  profession  where  intelli- 
gence and  training  are  required,  a  man  of  moral 
character  and  refined  tastes.  I  am  starving  for 
the  companionship  of  my  own  kind.  Brain  and 
heart,  I  am  starving.  What  am  I  to  do? 
Pity  me,  good  people,  Oh,  pity  me! 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   PURPLE   STOCKING 

There  was  unaccustomed  silence  for  a  time 
after  the  Porter  finished  speaking.  He  left  the 
car  at  once,  perturbed,  it  may  be,  by  his  own  dis- 
closure of  his  condition  and  emotions.  Those 
who  had  listened  to  him,  whatever  may  have 
been  their  views  concerning  one  of  the  great 
problems  of  the  age,  could  not  but  feel  a  certain 
sympathy  for  the  man  condemned  to  be  thus 
isolated — the  man  without  a  race.  That  his 
case  might  be  somewhat  exceptional  detracted 
in  no  way  from  its  curious  pathos.  It  was 
recognized  as  one  of  the  tragedies  of  human 
life  as  it  is,  and  the  recital  had  induced  a  thought- 
ful mood  among  the  Porter's  audience.  What 
should  be  the  attitude  of  the  ordinary  man 
or  woman  in  a  case  like  this?  And,  seeking 
honestly  in  their  own  minds,  those  pondering 
could  not  answer  the  question  satisfactorily, 
either  to  judgment  or  to  conscience.  By  what 
law  should  they  be  guided? 

The  Colonel  was  among  the  thinkers,   but 


151 


152  THE  CASSOWARY 

he  rose  superior,  as  usual.  That  gilded  optimist 
wanted  not  even  reflection  among  the  snow- 
bound. Had  his  company  been  of  males  exclu- 
sively he  might  even  have  been  tempted  to 
introduce  the  flowing  bowl,  but  for  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  inevitable  depressing  aftermath. 
He  wanted  but  carelessness  •  and  distraction 
and  forgetfulness  until  the  time  of  pale  mon- 
otony should  end.  Now  he  was  tempted  to  an 
act  most  ruthless  and  unconjugal. 

His  glance  was  toward  his  wife,  whom  he 
adored  openly,  and  toward  whom  he,  at  all 
times,  showed  the  greatest  consideration,  but 
who,  through  some  prescience,  was  fidgeting 
a  little. 

"Madam,"  he  began  pompously,  slapping  his 
hand  upon  his  chest,  "the  husband  is  the  head 
of  the  family — he  really  isn't,"  he  added  in  an 
audible  aside,  "but  we'll  assume  it  for  the 
present.  Madam,  he  is  the  head  of  the  family 
and  must  be  obeyed.  I  order,  command  and 
direct  you  to  tell  a  story ;  if  need  be  I  will  even 
abdicate  for  the  moment  and  so  far  humiliate 
myself  as  to  implore  you  to  tell  a  story.  Tell 
about  that  affair  which  took  place  at  the  Grand 
Cattaraugus,  when  we  were  stopping  there 
last  summer." 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  153 

The  pleasant-faced  lady  appeared  hesitant: 
"But  it's  almost  a  naughty  story,"  she  pro- 
tested; "it's  about  a  stocking,  and,  oh  dear! 
there's  something  about  a"  — and  she  blushed 
prettily,  as  is  always  the  case  when  a  middle- 
aged  woman  thus  demeans  herself,  "there's 
an  ankle  in  it,  too." 

"Nonsense,"  retorted  the  Colonel.  "Do  you 
mean  in  the  story  or  in  the  stocking?  In  either 
case  an  ankle  is  all  right.  Go  ahead,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Livingston  yielded:  "After  all,"  she 
said,  "it's  not  so  very  wicked  and  the  story 
is  chiefly  about  matching  colors,  which  is  a 
subject  not  unlikely  to  interest  ladies.  Any- 
how, it  interested  me  in  this  instance.  I  know 
all  the  shocking  circumstances,  and,  since  I've 
gone  so  far  I  may  as  well  be  reckless.  I  suppose 
the  story  might  be  called 

THE  PURPLE  STOCKING 

Maxwell,  a  gentleman  stopping  at  the  hotel, 
was  bored.  There  existed  no  particular  excuse 
for  his  frame  of  mind,  but  the  fact  remained. 
He  had  fairly  earned  a  vacation,  but  when  the 
time  came  for  escape  from  the  midsummer 
heat  of  his  offices  he  had  found  himself  with  no 
well-defined  idea  of  where  his  outing  should  be 


154  THE  CASSOWARY 

spent.  Circumstances  rendered  it  necessary 
that  it  should  be  a  brief  one  this  time,  else  he 
would  have  known  what  to  do  with  himself, 
for  the  man  knew  the  Rocky  Mountains.  As 
it  was,  he  had  but  taken  train  for  one  of  the 
nearby  summer  resorts,  where  the  Grand  Cat- 
taraugus  caravansary,  consisting,  as  those  places 
do,  of  an  enormous  piazza  with  a  hotel  attached 
to  its  rear,  loomed  up  beside  and  overlooked 
the  pretty  hill-surrounded  lake  with  its  blue 
waters,  narrow  beach  and  many  pleasure  boats. 
It  was  not  a  bad  place  and  Maxwell  had  decided 
that  it  would  be  endurable  for  a  week  or  two, 
especially  after  the  arrival  of  his  friend,  Jim 
Farrington,  who  had  promised  to  follow  and 
loaf  genially  with  him. 

But  first  impressions  are  not  always  final. 
Maxwell  found  the  hotel  full  of  people,  mostly 
women.  It  was  a  fashionable  place,  and  the 
women  were  fair  to  look  upon,  but  there  were 
not  men  enough  to  go  round.  There  were  two 
or  three  dowagers  who  knew  Maxwell  and, 
seek  to  avoid  it  as  he  might,  he  was  soon 
generally  introduced  and  his  eligibility  made 
widely  known.  Then  came  monotonous  atten- 
tion and,  for  his  own  peace,  the  man,  who 
hadn't  come  after  women,  was  driven  to  daily 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  155 

exile  either  to  his  room  or  to  the  lake  or  hills. 
The  elder  ladies  with  daughters  hunted  him 
as  hounds  might  hunt  a  rabbit.  He  resolved 
promptly  upon  escape  and,  within  a  week,  an 
afternoon  found  him  engaged  in  packing  for 
that  purpose. 

His  laundry  had  just  come  in  and  among  the 
articles  he  picked  up  first  were  a  lot  of  blazing 
silken  handkerchiefs.  Colored  silk  handker- 
chiefs were  a  fad  of  his  in  summer.  He  tossed 
them  idly  into  his  valise  when  the  color  of  one 
of  them  attracted  his  attention. 

"I  never  owned  a  handkerchief  like  that," 
he  muttered. 

He  raised  the  article  to  examine  it  more 
closely,  and  to  his  amazement  it  unfolded  and 
lengthened  out.  It  was  not  a  handkerchief 
at  all.  It  was  a  lady's  stocking — a  brilliant 
purple  stocking! 

Maxwell  wondered.  "Washing's  been  mixed," 
he  said,  and  then  devoted  closer  and  more  earn- 
est attention  to  his  prize.  It  was  a  charming 
affair,  small  of  foot  but  not  too  small  otherwise, 
and  possessed,  somehow,  an  especial  symmetry, 
even  in  its  present  state. 

"It's    number    eight — number    three    shoe/' 


156  THE  CASSOWARY 

thought  Maxwell,  "and  it's  the  prettiest  stock- 
ing I  ever  saw." 

His  comment  was  fully  justified.  The  stock- 
ing was  a  dream  in  its  department  of  lingerie. 
The  purple  was  relieved,  from  the  ankle  upward 
a  little  way,  by  a  clocking  of  snow-white  sprays 
of  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  the  purple  itself  was 
of  such  a  hue  as  to  send  one  dreaming  of  the 
glories  of  the  ancients.  It  was  a  wonderful 
stocking,  a  fascinating  stocking.  It  lured  like 
a  will-o'-the  wisp. 

Maxwell  abandoned  his  packing  and  sat 
stroking  and  admiring  the  hypnotizing  object. 
He  became  vastly  interested.  "I  wonder  whom 
it  belongs  to?"  he  mused.  Then — there 's  no 
explaining  it  with  authority,  and  discreet!}' — 
a  sudden  fancy  seized  upon  him.  "FU  not 
leave  to-night!"  he  said,  "I'll  find  the  owner 
of  that  stocking!  It  will  give  me  something 
to  do  and  add  a  little  zest  to  things.  Might 
as  well  be  stocking-hunting  as  anything  else. 
By  Jove,  what  a  neat  little  foot  she  must  have!" 

The  packing  was  left  undone.  The  man  had 
an  object  now,  one  which  might  have  s.eemed 
trivial  to  the  bloodless  and  unimaginative,  but 
which  to  him  became  a  serious  matter.  Talk 
about  the  Round  Table  fellows  after  the  Holy 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  157 

Grail  or  Diogenes  after  an  honest  man,  they 
were  not  in  it  with  Maxwell !  He  dawdled  and 
mooned  over  that  stocking  and  made  and 
unmade  plans.  He  bribed  a  gentleman,  youth- 
ful and  dirty,  connected  with  the  laundry 
department  of  the  hotel,  and  it  came  to  naught. 
His  gaze  was  ever  downward.  He  appeared 
more  frequently  on  the  piazza  among  the  scores 
of  "porchers"  engaged  in  idle  converse  there. 
He  strolled  along  the  little  beach,  ever  with 
furtive  eyes  on  twinkling  feet,  and  neat  ones  he 
saw  galore  and  stockings  rainbow-hued  galore, 
but  never  a  purple  one  among  them. 

It  was  the  quality  of  the  purple,  he  decided, 
which  must  have  so  enthralled  him  in  the  first 
place.  He  had  never  seen  a  purple  like  it.  He 
read  up  on  purples.  He  learned  that  royal 
purple  is  made  up  of  fifty-five  parts  red,  twelve 
parts  blue  and  thirty-three  parts  black,  and 
concluded  that  the  stocking  must  be  almost 
a  royal  purple,  so  wonderfully  did  the  white 
lilies  show  out  against  its  richness.  Tyrian 
purple  he  rejected  as  being  too  dull  for  the  com- 
parison. Then  he  considered  the  purple  of 
Amorgos,  the  wonderfully  brilliant  color  ob- 
tained from  the  seaweed  of  the  Grecian  island, 
and  this  met  with  greater  favor  in  his  eyes. 


158  THE  CASSOWARY 

He  decided,  finally,  that  the  hue  of  the  stocking 
was  between  the  royal  and  the  purple  of  Amor- 
gos,  and  this  relieved  his  mind.  But  this  didn't 
help  him  to  find  the  girl — and  how  vain  a  thing 
is  even  the  most  beautiful  stocking  in  the  world 
without  a  girl  attached ! 

Then  the  unexpected  happened  as  usual. 
There  came  a  lapse  hi  the  search.  The  cure  for 
Maxwell's  dream  was  homeopathic.  Like  cures 
like.  One  girl  blighted  most  of  interest  in  the 
vague  search  for  another.  Maxwell  was  caught 
by  the  concrete.  Miss  Ward,  a  guest  of  the 
hotel,  in  company  with  her  aunt,  was  not, 
Maxwell  decided,  like  any  of  the  other  women. 
She  was  dignified,  but  piquant,  pretty,  certainly, 
and  well  educated.  Likewise,  she  had  self- 
possession  and  much  wit.  Maxwell  enjoyed 
her  society  and  they  became  close  friends.  He 
began  to  feel  as  if  the  world,  if  hollow,  had  at 
least  a  substantial  crust.  He  was  no  longer 
bored  and  the  stocking  fancy  was  put  aside. 

Then  came  Farrington.  Farrington  had  spir- 
its. He  lightened  up  the  hotel  piazza  and 
flirted  with  every  one,  from  dowagers  down 
to  the  little  girls  to  whom  he  told  liver-colored 
stories  as  evening  and  the  gloom  came.  He 
was  deeply  interested  when  Maxwell  told  him 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  159 

of  the  stocking  and  the  marvel.  He  became 
full  of  ardor. 

"Don't  give  up  the  search!"  he  expostulated. 
"Such  a  stocking  as  that  must  belong  to  the 
one  woman  in  four  hundred  and  eighty-three 
thousand.  Why,  it's  like  finding  a  nugget  in 
a  valley!  There's  bound  to  be  gold  in  the 
mountains!" 

So  the  interest  of  Maxwell  became  largely 
revived  and  his  mind  was  on  stockings  when 
he  was  not  in  the  company  of  Miss  Ward.  One 
day  an  inspiration  came  to  him  with  the  gentle 
suddenness  of  a  love  pat.  He  took  Farrington 
into  his  confidence.  That  evening  on  the  piazza 
that  gifted  friend  adroitly  turned  the  conversa- 
tion to  the  subject  of  matching  goods  and  colors. 

The  debate  became  most  animated.  The 
ladies,  one  and  all,  declared  that  in  the  matter 
of  matching  things  men  were  scarcely  above 
the  beasts  that  perish,  while  as  for  themselves, 
there  was  not  a  woman,  young  or  old,  among 
them  who  was  not  an  adept.  Maxwell,  who 
had  seemed  at  first  uninterested,  broke  into 
the  conversation. 

"I'm  not  ungallant,"  he  asserted  as  a  pre- 
liminary. "When  it  comes  to  gallantry  I'll 
venture  to  say  I'd  outdo  any  medieval  troub- 


160  THE  CASSOWARY 

adour,  if  I  could  only  sing  and  twang  a  harp, 
but,  though  angels  can  do  almost  anything, 
to  tell  the  truth  I'm  a  shade  doubtful  concerning 
their  absolute  infallibility  in  matching  hues 
and  fabrics.  I've  a  piece  of  silk  I'd  like  matched 
for  my  sister,  and  I  hereby,  in  the  presence  of 
all  witnesses,  offer  a  prize  of  one  box  of  gloves 
to  any  lady  who  will  match  it  for  me  within  a 
week,"  and  he  produced  about  six  inches 
square — thirty-six  square  inches — of  sulendid 
purple  silk. 

As  the  war  horse  snuffeth  the  battle  and  says 
"Ha!  hal"  to  the  trumpets;  as  the  sea  mew 
rises  from  the  waves  to  riot  in  the  spindrift; 
as  the  needle  to  the  pole ;  as  the  river  to  the  sea 
or  the  cat  to  the  catnip  in  wild  enthusiasm — so 
rose  the  ladies  to  the  silken  lure.  Match  the 
silk?  Why,  the  gloves  must  be  distributed 
among  the  score ! 

And  then  ensued  a  busy  week.  The  sample, 
divided  into  thirty-six  pieces  an  inch  square, 
was  surrendered.  There  were  trips  to  the 
nearest  city  and,  as  excitement  grew,  even  to  the 
metropolis.  The  afternoon  for  the  test  arrived 
and  Maxwell,  seated  judicially  beside  a  table 
on  the  piazza  and  provided  with  another  sample 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  161 

of  his  silk,  awaited  with  manly  dignity  the 
onslaught  of  the  gathered  contestants. 

One  by  one  they  came  and  laid  down  their 
little  pieces  of  purple  silk;  one  by  one  the 
samples  were  compared  by  the  judge  with  the 
piece  held  in  his  hand,  and,  one  by  one,  he 
passed  them  back  with  a  regretful  and  unnec- 
essarily audible  sigh.  Last  of  all  came  Miss 
Ward,  who  had  not  been  to  town  and  who 
had,  apparently,  taken  slight  interest  in  the 
competition.  It  was  too  trivial  for  her,  had 
been  Maxwell's  firm  conclusion.  Now  she  ap- 
proached the  table  and  kid  down,  as  had  the 
others,  a  piece  of  purple  silk.  Maxwell's  heart 
thumped.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  won- 
drous hue  I 

"Miss  Ward  has  won  the  gloves/'  he  said. 

There  were  congratulations  and  any  amount 
of  fun  and  curious  speculation. 

That  evening  Maxwell  caught  Miss  Ward 
upon  the  piazza  and  induced  her  to  sit  with 
him  awhile,  to  improve  his  mind,  he  said  They 
chatted  indifferently  until  he  took  occasion  to 
compliment  her  upon  her  success  in  matching 
the  purple  silk.  "You  have  a  wonderful  sense 
of  color,"  he  declared. 

She  answered  that  she  had  always  enjoyed 


162  THE  CASSOWARY 

matching  things,  and  then  he  ventured  to 
expatiate  a  little  on  the  particular  silk  which 
had  been  matched:  "What  pretty  trimming 
for  a  hat,  or  what  pretty  stockings  it  would 
make,"  he  said. 

She  asked  him  why  the  nighthawks  circling 
overhead  and  about  gave  utterance  to  their 
shrill  cries  so  frequently,  and  he  said  he  didn't 
know.  Then  they  talked  about  the  coming 
boat  race. 

For  a  week  Maxwell's  chief  occupation  was 
what  Farrington  described  as  "concentrated 
musing."  He  walked  much.  One  afternoon 
he  was  strolling  along  the  narrow  beach,  which 
lay,  a  sandy  stretch,  between  the  water  and  a 
tree-grown  grassy  ledge,  about  fifteen  feet  in 
height,  which  was  a  favorite  place  of  rest  and 
outlook  for  the  hotel  guests.  He  was  looking 
downward,  but  there  came  a  moment  when 
the  heavens  fell.  Chancing  to  look  upward 
to  determine  if  any  of  the  usual  idlers  there 
were  of  a  companionable  sort  for  him,  he  saw 
that  which  turned  aside  the  current  of  his  life 
as  easily  as  an  avalanche  may  turn  a  rivulet. 

There,  projecting  a  little  beyond  the  crest- 
crowning  grass  and  greenery  of  the  ledge  above, 
was  something  trim  and  gloriously  purple  and 


THE  PURPLE  STOCKING  163 

gloriously  perfect.  The  tan  of  the  neatest  of 
number  three  shoes  blended  upward  into  the 
purple  paradise,  and  from  the  tan  seemed 
growing  a  snowy  spray  of  lilies-of-the- valley. 
Delicate  is  the  subject,  but  it  must  be  treated. 
Delicate  is  the  making  of  a  watch,  but  we  must 
have  watches;  eggs  are  delicate,  but  we  must 
eat  them;  goldfish  are  delicate,  but  we  must 
lift  them  by  hand  occasionally.  Duty  first ! 

Perfect  the  exterior  of  that  wondrous  stock- 
ing, perfect,  absolutely  so,  but  its  contour  and 
its  contents!  Ah,  me!  The  flat,  thin  ankle — 
let  Arabian  fillies  hide  their  heads!  The  even 
upward  swell — just  full  enough,  just  trim 
enough,  revealed,  but  not  in  view,  as  one  sees 
things  by  starlight.  Ah,  me ! 

Maxwell's  eyes  dimmed  and  he  reeled.  What 
is  known  as  locomotor  ataxia  smote  him  there 
suddenly  in  his  prime  and  pride  of  life.  Then 
after  a  moment  or  two  a  degree  of  health  came 
back  and  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps, 
feebly  at  first,  then  more  rapidly,  and  then 
as  hies  the  antlered  stag.  He  gained  the  ledge 
and  followed  it  and  found  Miss  Ward  seated 
demurely  at  its  very  crest  and  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  friends. 

Within  three  months  he  owned,   after  the 


164  THE  CASSOWARY 

wedding,  not  merely  what  was  left  of  one,  but 
two  similar  purple  stockings,  and  their  contents, 
together  with,  all  and  singular,  the  heredit- 
aments and  appurtenances  thereunto  belonging 
or  in  anywise  appertaining. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT 

The  general  opinion  seemed  to  be  that  the 
amiable  lady's  story  was  innoccuous  in  every 
detail,  while  it  commended  itself  as  being 
absolutely  true  to  human  nature,  that  great 
essential  in  a  narrative  of  any  sort.  There 
were  the  feminine  instinct  as  to  the  matching 
of  colors,  inbred  throughout  each  latitude,  and 
the  masculine  instinct  in  relation  to  stockings, 
existent  in  every  longitude,  each  indicated 
with  all  assuredness  and  delicacy.  The  account, 
it  was  declared  by  the  Young  Lady,  was  a 
veritable  "Idyl  of  an  Outing,"  and  no  one 
disagreed  with  her.  Then  came  renewed  ex- 
pression of  the  now  constant  anxiety  and 
curiosity  regarding  the  progress  of  the  rescuers 
and  Stafford  went  forward  to  learn  the  situation, 
and  report. 

"We're  in  'in  a  hole,'  literally,"  came,  the 
reply  to  Stafford's  inquiry  of  the  engineer  in 
charge  of  the  relief  train;  "That's  all  we  make, 
at  first,  merely  a  hole,  when  we  charge  into 


165 


166  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  big  drift  ahead  of  us  now.  It's  thirty  feet 
deep  and  we  can't  do  much  more  than  loosen 
up  things,  just  here,  and  let  the  shovelers  do 
the  rest.  It  will  be  better  when  we  get  through 
this  cut.  We've  sent  men  on  ahead  and  they 
find  the  thing  not  nearly  so  tad  half  a  mile 
from  here.  We're  getting  along." 

"But,  how  fast  are  you  getting  along?" 
queried  Stafford  impatiently.  "When  are  you 
going  to  reach  us?" 

"I  can't  tell.  I'm  getting  a  little  doubtful 
about  the  fourth  day,  now.  Still,  we  may 
make  it.  How  are  you  fixed  for  heat  and 
provisions?" 

"All  right  yet,  I  guess.  I'll  find  out  and  let 
you  know  later,"  and  Stafford  went  back  to 
the  sleeper. 

The  bearer  of  unpleasant  news  is  seldom 
received  with  an  ovation  and  Stafford  proved 
no  exception.  There  were  the  usual  plaints, 
but  he  did  not  notice  them.  Somehow,  he 
had  no  interest  in  deliverance.  He  was  satis- 
fied to  be  where  he  was.  He  was  living  en- 
tirely in  the  present  and  what  was  near  him. 
He  looked  about  for  the  Far  Away  Lady,  but 
she  was  not  visible,  and  he  indulged  in  a  fit  of 
moodiness,  like  a  boy.  He  lingered  with  the 


THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT  167 

company  until  the  time  for  retiring  came  and 
then  went  forward  to  the  smoking  compartment, 
where  the  usual  group  of  the  gregarious  were 
enjoying  themselves.  Here  he  found  relax- 
ation of  thought,  at  least,  and,  to  a  degree, 
amusement. 

He  entered  as  there  was  being  related  an 
incident  of  politics.  It  was  told  by  a  man 
portly,  ruddy-faced  and  wearing  a  gold  watch 
chain,  weighty  enough  for  a  small  cable,  from 
which  depended  the  emblems  of  two  or  three 
of  the  great  secret  fraternities.  Though  in  the 
drawing-room  gatherings  he  had  appeared  some- 
what less  in  his  element  than  here,  he  had 
become  rather  a  favorite  because  of  his  unfail- 
ing good  nature  and  evident  shrewdness  and 
sense  of  humor.  He  was  known  as  a  "com- 
missioner" of  something  in  one  of  the  large 
cities,  a  typical  city  politician.  He  was  re- 
lating the  difficulties  experienced  in  what  he 
called 

THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT 

Pat,  who  was  an  excellent  janitor,  in  charge 
of  a  big  bank  building,  with  men  under  him, 
had  aspirations.  He  wanted  to  become  a 
policeman.  The  place  he  held  was  a  good  one 


168  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  most  men  of  his  class  would  have  been 
contented,  but  Pat  was  not.  He  was  dis- 
satisfied with  the  monotonous  indoor  life  and 
decided  that  to  be  on  the  "foorce"  was  the  only 
thing  for  him.  He  was  a  fine  fellow,  over- 
flowing with  energy  and  full  of  persistence,  he 
would  not,  however  advised,  abandon  the 
idea.  He  was  a  tall,  muscular  man  and,  aside 
from  the  qualities  already  mentioned,  was 
possessed  of  good  sense  and  was  of  excellent 
habits.  He  had  friends  among  the  tenants 
of  the  big  structure  over  the  care  of  which  he 
presided  and  when,  realizing  that  to  attain  the 
object  of  his  desire  some  strong  alliance  would 
be  necessary  he  appealed  for  aid  to  an  occupant 
of  one  of  the  offices  in  the  building,  a  young 
man,  who,  if  not  in  politics  as  a  business,  knew 
something  of  the  game,  he  met  with  no  dis- 
couragement. 

"1*11  do  what  I  can,  Pat,"  said  Wheaton. 

The  Municipal  Civil  Service  Commission  had 
just  been  established  hi  the  City  and  was  yet 
"wobbly"  and,  to  a  degree,  swayed  by  political 
influences.  Under  the  direction  of  Wheaton, 
who  decided  to  see  fair  play,  Pat  underwent 
the  usual  preliminary  examination,  passed  ad- 
mirably as  to  all  questions  and  would  have 


THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT  169 

passed  physically,  as  well,  but  for  his  weight, 
or  rather  the  lack  of  it.  The  required  weight  for 
a  policeman  of  his  height  was  one  hundred  and 
sixty-five  pounds;  Pat  weighed  only  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  for  he  was  as  gaunt  as  an  Aus- 
tralian. Other  men  lacking  as  many  pounds 
of  the  weight  nominally  demanded  had  secured 
places  with  no  difficulty,  but  Pat  was  not 
desired  by  those  in  authority.  His  political 
views  were  not  of  the  right  sort  for  the  examiners 
and  his  manner  showed  his  independence. 
Fortunately  for  him,  the  first  examination  was 
only  a  preliminary — (A  delay  allowed  the 
politicians  time  to  select  their  men  among  the 
many) — and  a  second  and  final  one  was  an- 
nounced to  take  place  four  weeks  after  the 
first.  Pat  came  to  his  friend  almost  with  tears 
in  his  eyes: 

"Oi'm  done  fur,"  said  he. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  Wheaton. 

"Oi'm  fifteen  pounds  short,"  said  Pat. 

"How  long  before  the  next  examination?" 

"Four  wakes." 

"Pshaw,"  said  Wheaton.  "We'll  fix  it,  yet. 
I'm  not  going  to  let  those  fellows  squeeze  you 
out.  Will  you  do  just  as  I  tell  you?" 

"Oi  will,  begobsl"  was  the  sturdy  answer. 


170  THE  CASSOWARY 

"Well  you  must  begin  to-morrow  morning. 
You've  got  two  sub-janitors,  haven't  you?" 

"Oi  have,"  said  Pat. 

"You  can  make  them  do  all  the  work,  if  you 
want  to,  can't  you?" 

"Oi  can  that!" 

"Then  what  I  want  you  to  do  is  this — and, 
mind,  I'm  going  to  take  charge  of  the  whole 
thing  and  foot  the  bills;  they  won't  be  much — 
I  don't  want  you  to  do  a  lick  of  work  for  the 
next  four  weeks.  I  want  you  to  stay  in  your 
room  about  all  the  time:  you  mustn't  even 
walk  about  much.  I  want  you  to  eat  nothing 
but  potatoes  and  bread  with  about  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  thick  of  butter  and  sugar  on  it  Eat 
lots!  You  can  have  meat,  too,  if  it's  very  fat. 
And — you're  a  sober  man  and  I  don't  believe 
you'll  get  a  fixed  habit  in  four  weeks — I'm  going 
to  send  a  keg  of  beer  to  your  room  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  another  whenever  one  is  finished. 
You're  to  drink  a  big  mug  of  it  every  hour." 

"Blazes,"  interjected  Pat,  "TV  ould  lady'll 
murther  me.  Oi'll  be  drunk,  sure,  an'  me 
breath  will  breed  a  peshtiliench." 

"No  it  won't.  You'll  soon  get  used  to  it. 
We  begin  to-morrow." 

And   the   next  day   Pat   began,   resolutely, 


THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT  171 

though  with  fears.  Wheaton  visited  him  fre- 
quently and  encouraged  him  in  every  way; 
"I'll  get  you  all  the  newspapers  and  teach  you 
to  play  solitaire — it's  a  fine  game  with  cards 
when  you're  alone.  You're  a  goose/'  he  said 
"and  I'm  training  you  for  pate  de  fois  gras," 
but  Pat  did  not  know  what  that  meant.  He 
only  knew  that  times  were  queer.  He  was 
afraid  of  the  "ould  lady." 

The  third  morning  he  came  down  beaming. 
"It's  quare,"  he  announced.  "Oi  belave  th' 
ould  lady  do  be  fallin'  in  love  wid  me  over  agin, 
she  does  be  that  foine  an'  carressin'  wid  me. 
Tat !'  says  she,  'you're  the  new  mon  intoirely ! 
You  do  be  as  gentle  as  a  lamb  an'  it's  good  to 
see  ye  so  playful  wid  the  childer'  says  she. 
'Oi'm  in  love  wid  ye,  Pat'  says  she.  An'  Oi  all 
the  toime  falin'  loike  a  baste,  for  I  knew  well 
'twas  only  the  mellowness  av  the  beer  in  me. 
But  it's  given  me  a  lesson  it  has.  Oi'll  be 
betther  tempered  after  this." 

"Good  idea,"  said  Wheaton. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week  Wheaton  took 
Pat  out  and  weighed  him,  undressed — four 
pounds  gained. 

"We  must  do  better  than  that,"  commented 
Wheaton.  "We'll  barely  pull  through  at  this 


172  THE  CASSOWARY 

gait,  and  it  will  be  harder  work  getting  on 
flesh  the  last  two  weeks.  Do  you  take  your 
beer  every  hour?" 

"O'm  beginning  to  spake  Dutch,"  said  Pat. 

"Well,  keep  on  with  it  and  eat — eat  like  a 
hobo!  We'll  make  it!  Don't  exercise,  don't 
even  wink,  if  you  can  help  it." 

Pat  took  his  instructions  literally  and  obeyed 
them.  He  stayed  in  his  room  and  gorged. 
His  eyes  became  a  trifle  heavy  and  his  face 
flushed,  but  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  he  weighed 
only  one  hundred  and  fift}r-nine  pounds.  Some- 
how, the  next  week  he  didn't  do  so  well,  gaining 
only  three  pounds  more.  Dame  Nature,  in 
mistaken  kindness,  was  trying  to  adjust  him 
to  his  new  diet.  Wheaton  was  becoming 
excited — only  one  hundred  and  sixty-two 
pounds,  and  only  a  week  to  gain  something 
over  three  more  in! 

"We  must  hump  ourselves!" 

And  Pat  did  "hump"  himself,  ate  and  drank 
with  an  assumed  voracity,  and  had  a  slight 
attack  of  indigestion.  This  didn't  help  matters. 
The  night  before  the  examination  he  weighed 
only  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  pounds  and 
four  ounces — three  quarters  of  a  pound  short! 

Wheaton  was   anxious   but   not   despairing. 


THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT  173 

"The  examination  begins  at  ten/'  he  said. 
"Meet  me  here  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
We'll  have  six  hours  left." 

At  the  hour  named  in  the  morning  came 
Wheaton,  carrying  a  big  jug.  "Have  you  had 
any  beer,  yet,  Pat?"  he  asked. 

"No  sor." 

"Then  don't  take  any.  You  must  be  clear- 
headed when  you  go  before  the  Commission. 
Here's  a  gallon  of  water,  good  water  it  is.  You 
must  drink  it  all  before  ten  o'clock." 

Pat   looked   dismayed.     "Oi'll   try   sor." 

Then  began  the  struggle.  Pat  washed  down 
his  breakfast  at  once,  very  salt-broiled  mack- 
erel— which  Wheaton  had  brought, — with  the 
usual  potatoes  and  a  big  beefsteak.  After  that 
every  five  minutes,  Wheaton  forced  the  poor 
fellow  to  drink  a  glass  of  water.  At  half-past 
nine  the  gallon  was  done.  Pat,  like  the  tea- 
drinkers  of  Ebenezer  Chapel,  "swelled  wisibly." 
But  Wheaton  made  him  drink  more  water. 

"Oi  feel  loike  a  fishpond,  sor,"  he  complained. 

They  hurried  to  the  nearest  Turkish  bath  and 
Pat  stripped  and  got  upon  the  scales.  He 
weighed  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds 
and  three  ounces.  Pat  was  perspiring  violently. 


174  THE  CASSOWARY 

"If  you  sweat,  I'll  murder  you!"  said  Whea- 
ton. 

They  appeared  before  the  Commission, 
Wheaton  watching  everything  like  a  hawk, 
his  heart  in  his  mouth  as  the  weighing  test 
came.  One  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds 
and  one  ounce!  There  was  no  getting  around 
it! 

"Pat,"  said  Wheaton,  later,  "You're  on  the 
force  now  and  you've  had  a  lesson  in  practical 
politics.  You  ought  to  be  a  sergeant  in  no 
time." 

"Politics  is  aisy,"  said  Pat,  "but  Oi'm 
thinkin'  Oi'll  be  changin'  me  diet.  Oi'm  for- 
ninst  beer  and  bread  and  butther  forever — an"' 
he  added,  reflectively,  "Oi  dunno  but  wather, 
too!" 

"He's  making  a  good  policeman,"  concluded 
the  Commissioner. 

So  ended  the  relation  of  Pat's  experience, 
and,  a  little  later,  the  laughing  group  in  the 
smoking  room  dissolved  itself.  Stafford  sought 
his  berth,  largely  recovered  from  his  discontent 
and  more  like  his  reliant  self.  But  he  was  not 
assured  as  to  his  dreams.  Would  his  conscience 
be  with  him  still?  Could  the  line  of  conven- 
tional demarcation  between  him  and  the  Far 


THE  FATTENING  OF  PAT  175 

Away  Lady  be   rigorously  preserved,  even  in 
them? 

But  no  dreams  came  to  him  at  once.  He 
could  not  sleep  at  first  but  struggled  with  him- 
self. He  was  tumultuous  and  impatient  with 
his  environment  and  obligations,  all,  seemingly, 
standing  in  the  way  of  his  happiness.  He  was 
lost,  utterly,  in  the  old  conflict  which  comes  with 
the  hesitation  between  the  recognized  right 
and  wrong,  the  accepted  thing  at  the  time  in 
the  age  of  the  earth  in  which  he  lived?  To  his 
aid,  he  quoted  to  himself  the  sayings  of  the 
keen  thinkers,  the  abstract  reasoners :  he  thought 
of  Anatole  France:  " What  is  morality?  Mor- 
ality is  the  rule  of  custom  and  custom  is  the 
rule  of  habit.  Morality  is,  then,  the  rule  of 
habit.  Morality  changes,  continually  with  cus- 
tom, of  which  it  is  only  the  general  idea."  He 
thought  of  the  others,  too,  of  one  who  reasoned 
from  the  fact  that  there  were  a  Jewish  morality, 
a  Christian  morality,  a  Buddhist  morality, 
and  all  that.  In  his  half  sleep  he  mumbled; 
"Why,  Reason  is  the  thing,"  and  then  he  added 
mumblingly  and  reflectively,  "but  then  we 
have  learned  that  there  is  a  right  and  reason 
must  end  by  being  right.  There  is  a  right — we 
know  that;  we  feel  it — and  we  know  what  it  is. 


176  THE  CASSOWARY 

It  is,  largely,  a  subordination,  a  regard  for 
others.  We  cannot  quite  justify  ourselves  for 
any  selfishness  by  quoting  some  great  law  of 
nature.  Conscience,  somehow,  has  become  the 
greatest  of  these  laws." 

And  so,  vaguely  and  jumblingly,  as  his  senses 
oozed  into  sleep,  he  quoted  failingly,  the  cold 
thinkers.  Then  the  real  dreams  came  to  him, 
but  they  were  misty  and  bizarre.  He  was 
with  the  Far  Away  Lady,  but  the  surroundings 
were  all  strange  and  she  was  most  elusive.  They 
were  in  a  great  house  and  he  could  hear  her 
voice  but  he  could  not  find  her,  though  he 
searched  from  room  to  room.  Then  they  were 
in  a  forest  where  there  were  many  flowers  and 
tall  trees  and  she  was  a  bird  somewhere  up  in 
the  trees  and  he  could  hear  her  singing,  but  he 
could  not  see  her  amid  the  foliage.  And, 
finally,  they  were  where  there  was  much  shrub- 
bery and  where  he  could  see  her  plainly  enough, 
but  she  was  at  a  distance  and  as  he  followed 
she  would  disappear  among  the  roses  down 
some  garden  path.  All  was  most  tantalizing 
and  fantastic.  And  so  his  night  passed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   TEST    OF   ATTITUDE 

What  are  they  going  to  do,  a  man  and  a 
woman  who  have  met  and  loved  in  the  past,  and 
have  separated  conscientiously,  when  brought 
together  again  under  extraordinary  circum- 
stances, after  each  has  felt  that  loving  and  of 
real  living  had  been  denied,  and  endured  it  all 
for  years?  What  is  going  to  happen  when,  be- 
cause of  one  of  the  accidents  of  life  and  of  one 
of  the  great  accomplishing  conditions,  such  two 
as  this  have  been,  once  more,  thrown,  figura- 
tively, into  each  other's  arms? 

This  man  had  saved  this  woman's  life  yester- 
day, stumbling  upon  her  after  all  this  separation, 
after  he  done  a  man's  work  in  another  hemi- 
sphere and  had,  disappointed  with  life,  supposed 
the  chapter  closed.  Now  he  was  to  meet  her 
at  the  breakfast  table.  What  must  be  the 
demeanor  of  these  two  toward  each  other  now? 
Be  assured  neither  of  them  knew,  not  even  the 
woman, — and  in  foreseeing  as  to  such  a  situation 


m 


178  THE  CASSOWARY 

a  woman  knows  more,  by  some  instinct,  than 
a  man  may  learn  in  a  thousand  years. 

She  knew  that  they  would  meet  that  morning. 
That  was  the  inevitable,  after  yesterday.  Any- 
thing else  would  have  been  a  foolish  affectation. 
He  knew,  as  well,  that  he  must  go  in  to  that 
breakfast  table  and  sit  opposite  her  and  that 
then  they  must  face  together  a  situation  deli- 
cately psychological  and  dangerous  and  alto- 
gether fascinating — from  a  philosopher's  point 
of  view.  It  was  not  perhaps,  quite  so  fascinating 
to  these  two  people  with  what  we  call  conscience 
and  the  possession  of  what  makes  the  greatness 
of  humanity,  whether  it  appertain  to  man  or 
woman.  There  is  no  sex  to  nobility. 

She  was  sitting  there,  divinely  sweet,  as  he 
stalked  in.  She  was  sitting  there,  divinely  sweet, 
because  she  was  made  that  way,  and  never  did 
Stafford  realize  it  more.  The  years  had  taken 
from  her  gentle  beauty  not  the  slightest  toll. 

She  bloomed  this  fair  morning — it  was  only 
moderately  fair,  by  the  way — as  there  entered 
the  man  who  had  saved  her  life  the  day  before 
and  with  whom  in  the  past  hers  had  been  the 
closest  understanding  of  her  life.  To  the  eye 
she  was  merely  placid  and  infinitely  enchanting. 


A  TEST  OF  ATTITUDE  179 

The  man  did  not  appear  to  such  advantage.  He 
entered  blunderingly  and  doubtful. 

There  were,  of  course,  the  usual  expression  of 
morning  courtesies  and  then  they  settled  down 
to  a  fencing  which  was  but  a  lovingness  as  vast 
as  unexpressed.  They  talked  of  a  variety  of 
things  but  there  was  no  allusion  even  so  near  as 
Saturn,  to  what  was  lying  close  against  the 
hearts  of  both.  We  are  rather  fine  but  we  are 
unexplainable  sometimes,  we  men  and  women 
whom  Nature  made  so  curiously. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  one  of  the  most  force- 
ful of  men  and  one  of  the  most  sweet  and  de- 
sirable of  women  said  practically  nothing 
throughout  the  entire  breakfast.  They  did  not 
even  refer  to  the  grim  incident  of  the  dog  and 
the  grapple,  which  had  been  something  worth 
while.  Had  the  thing  been  less  they  would  have 
talked  about  it.  But,  to  them,  by  an  indefinable 
knowing,  this  matter  was  something  too  great 
to  consider  at  the  present  moment.  And,  so, 
unconsciously,  understanding  each  other,  they 
consigned  themselves  to  ordinary  table  talk. 

But  we  cannot  always  command  lack  of 
remembrance  and  get  obedience.  There  is  some- 
thing better..  Nature  has  her  ways.  One  of  her 
ways  is  to  have  given  us  eyes,  and  how  she  did 


180  THE  CASSOWARY 

place  us  under  her  soft  thumb  when  she  did  that ! 

They  said  very  little,  but  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes.  They  couldn't  help  that  very 
well.  Then  the  laws  of  life  worked  themselves 
out.  It  is  a  way  they  have. 

What  are  you  going  to  do  with  a  woman's 
eyes?  Inside  the  depths  of  a  woman's  eyes,  lurk- 
ing lovingly,  sometimes,  are  all  the  revelations 
that  must  come  when  the  time  comes  and  reflect 
themselves  into  the  looking-glasses  God  pro- 
vides to  tell  us  of  the  thoughts  of  others.  There 
are  different  women  and  different  eyes,  of 
course.  We  must  take  our  chances  on  that. 

And,  so  as  said,  they  did  not  even  refer  to  the 
happenings  of  the  day  before  or  of  any  of  the 
context  of  all  that  had  occurred.  They  did 
not  refer  to  the  great  hound.  They  talked 
of  nothing  but  of  things  incidental.  She  asked 
him  when  they  would  probably  be  released 
from  their  snow  imprisonment  and  he  told  her 
that  it  would  be  within  two  days. 

And,  so  they  separated  and  had  practically 
said  nothing. 

But  eyes,  as  announced,  are  the  most  as- 
tonishing things.  They  had  talked  a  great 
deal  that  morning.  As  we  human  beings  are 
made,  they  are  a  little  the  neatest  and  finest 


A  TEST  OF  ATTITUDE  181 

expression  of  all  there  is  in  life.  They  hold 
and  send  forth  the  beaconing  flash  from  every 
intellectual  and  loving  light-house  in  the  world. 
They  are,  with  what  they  say,  the  confession- 
al between  any  two  human  beings,  man  and 
woman,  in  the  world.  They  are  the  mediums 
of  revelation.  No  wonder  that  those  who  know 
want  sometimes,  foolishly,  it  may  be,  to  die 
when  to  them  comes  a  physical  blindness 
which  may  not  be  remedied. 

And  this  man  and  woman  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  he  hardly  comprehending  at  first 
but  having  the  great  consciousness  come  to  him 
at  last,  she  doubtless  understanding  sooner,  and 
even  more  acutely. 

Intelligent  fluttering  of  the  heart  is  what 
might  possibly  be  said  of  her.  She  was  alarmed 
and  yet,  from  another  point  of  view,  entirely 
without  fear.  She  realized  the  situation  better 
than  did  he.  Ever  since  the  world  was  first 
firmly  encrusted  out  of  the  steaming  fog  woman 
has  been  the  braver  of  the  two  in  our  love 
affairs. 

Exceedingly  clever  as  these  two  people  were, 
there  is  no  opportunity  to  do  any  exceed- 
ingly brilliant  work  in  telling  all  about  them. 
Brought  down  to  its  last  analysis,  theirs  was 


182  THE  CASSOWARY 

but  the  plain,  old-fashioned  love  which  has 
stood  the  test  of  all  the  centuries  and  which, 
in  our  modern  English  and  American  times, 
has  the  flavor  of  the  hollyhocks  which  grow 
about  the  front  fence  and  the  old-fashioned 
pinks  in  the  yard  and  a  lot  of  other  things. 
We  have  new  ways  in  other  things,  but  love 
has  not  changed  much  since  the  time  of  Egypt. 
Doubtless  it  was  about  the  same  way  before 

"What  is  the  day  of  the  week,  please,"  had 
been  Stafford's  last  utterance.  She  did  not 
even  reply.  She  looked  back  into  his  eyes 
and  that  look,  if  it  could  have  been  weighed, 
could  have  been  considered  by  nothing  but 
Troy  weight,  the  jeweller's  weight,  and  then 
it  would  have  been  too  coarse  for  the  occa- 
sion and  the  demand. 

And  so  they  separated  and  had  practically 
said  nothing. 

Not  the  great  Sultan  Schariar,  when  listen- 
ing to  the  fair  Scheherazade,  as  she  prolonged 
her  life  from  day  to  day  and  finally  saved  it 
by  the  fascination  of  her  stories;  not  the  au- 
gust hearer,  as  Sinbad  the  Sailor  described  his 
marvelous  adventures;  not  Margaret  of  An- 
goule'me,  as  she  gathered  the  more  lettered 
ladies  and  gallants  of  her  court  and  induced 


A  TEST  OF  ATTITUDE  183 

them  to  add  to  the  gayety  of  nations  by  the 
relation  of  brisk  and  risque  experiences;  not 
Dickens,  as  he  spun  the  threads  himself  of 
his  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,  had  a  more  keen 
enjoyment  than  the  Colonel  listening  to  the 
words  of  his  drafted  and  mustered  volunteers. 
He  fairly  glowed  appreciation  and  satisfaction. 
As  Stafford  entered  the  Cassowary,  he  per- 
ceived that  the  Colonel  was  still  recruiting. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   SAMOAN    IDYL' 

Among  the  passengers  from  one  of  the  other 
coaches  who  had  occasionally  visited  the  Cass- 
owary and  listened  as  the  novel  symposium 
progressed  was  a  brown-bearded,  middle-aged 
gentleman  with  a  tanned  face  and  merry  eye. 
That  he  was  of  the  navy  the  Colonel  had  soon 
learned,  and  to  the  naval  officer  he  now  ad- 
dressed himself: 

' 'Lieutenant,  you,  necessarily,  have  visited 
many  parts  of  the  world  and  must  have  become 
acquainted  with  the  facts  of  many  a  pretty 
romance  or  rough  adventure.  I  believe  you 
mentioned  the  circumstance  that  you  were 
stationed  for  a  time  in  the  Samoan  islands. 
Can  you  tell  us  a  tale  of  Samoa?" 

The  Lieutenant  smiled:  "I'll  tell  you  a  tale 
of  Samoa,  a  little  one,"  he  said.  "I  was  a  wit- 
ness to  its  main  incident,  and  it  interested  me. 
It  was  this  way: 

A  SAMOAN  IDYL 

Una  Loa  was  a  Samoan  girl,  and  she  was 

184 


A  SAMOAN  IDYL  185 

fair  to  look  upon.  They  have  festivities  in 
their  season  in  Samoa  as  we  have  here,  and, 
as  here,  there  are  rivalries  among  the  young 
women.  There  are  tests  of  beauty,  too,  and 
she  who  can  show  the  most  beautiful  head- 
dress of  flowers  is  counted  the  most  charming 
among  the  maidens.  She  is  as  the  Jersey  heif- 
er which  takes  the  first  prize  at  the  annual 
fair  in  some  prosperous  county;  she  is  as  the 
lithe  and  graceful  and  beautiful  creature  who 
doesn't  fall  over  her  train  at  the  receptions  at 
the  Court  of  England;  she  is  an  adornment 
to  the  society  in  which  she  moves,  and,  in  Sa- 
moa, it  must  of  course  be  the  best  society,  must 
consist  of  those  who  enter  into  the  contest  ex- 
hibiting the  sublimity  of  all  head-gear — for  head- 
gear is  a  woman's  glory. 

There  was  stationed  upon  one  of  the  islands 
of  the  Samoan  Group — there  is  no  use  of  men- 
tioning the  island  in  particular — a  young  gentle- 
man who  had  been  sent  out  under  the  auspi- 
ces of  the  Department  of  Agriculture  of  the 
United  States,  and,  to  speak  more  definitely, 
from  that  branch  of  the  Department  which  is 
known  as  the  Weather  Bureau.  His  business 
was  to  sit  at  the  top  of  a  somewhat  illy-con- 
structed tower  and  note  the  variations  of  wind 


186  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  temperature  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  then  send  his  report  to  the  Department 
at  Washington,  when  he  could  catch  a  steamer, 
which  didn't  always  often  happen,  for  this  was 
some  time  ago.  Still  he  sat  up  in  the  tower 
and  took  notes  and  glowered,  and  made  the 
best  of  things,  and  the  work  in  this  region  of 
mild  latitude  and  much  lassitude  did  not  wear 
upon  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  could  not 
fall  in  love,  not  in  the  purely  abstract  way 
that  he  loved  some  things  either,  as  for  in- 
stance, the  equation  of  the  parabola,  but 
vigorously  and  deeply. 

He  fell  in  love  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
became  personally  interested  in  the  contest 
among  the  fair  Samoans  as  to  whom  among 
the  belles  should  show  the  most  ardent  and 
effective  floral  decoration  of  her  mass  of  hair 
on  the  day  appointed. 

Now,  be  it  known  that  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
is  the  Atlantic  ocean,  that  the  Washington 
Monument  is  the  Washington  Monument.  They 
exist  as  they  are.  Be  it  known  also,  that  the 
hair  of  a  Samoan  beauty,  a  great  burnished 
mass,  also  exists  as  it  is  and  is  rarely  washed 
between  the  rising  of  the  sun  and  the  dropping 


A  SAMOAN  IDYL  187 

into  the  ocean  of  the  same  luminary,  or  at  any 
other  time. 

The  name  of  the  young  man  connected  with 
the  Weather  Bureau  was  John  Thompson.  That 
is  not  a  very  poetic  name,  but  John  Thompson 
can  love  just  as  hard  as  Everard  Argyle.  This 
John  Thompson  did  anyhow,  and  he  vowed  that 
his  sweetheart  should  win  in  the  contest  of 
flowery  decorations  of  the  heads  of  the  maidens. 
This  resolve  came  upon  him  some  six  weeks 
before  the  time  of  trial.  He  visited  Una  Loa. 

"How  long  is  it,  sweetheart,  since  you  let 
your  hair  down?"  said  he. 

"I  do  not  remember,"  said  she. 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  he. 

Now,  John  Thompson  had  entertained  certain 
ideas  regarding  agricultural  speculation  in  the 
Samoan  Islands,  and  had  imported  for  experi- 
mental purposes  various  small  quantities  of 
assorted  delicate  fertilizers — powdered  bone  and 
ammonia,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Here  was 
material,  and  inspiration  for  action  comes  to  a 
man  sometimes  in  a  way  which  makes  it  seem 
to  him  as  if  all  the  ancient  gods  were  behind  him 
and  beside  him,  aiding  him  in  every  way.  This 
sublimity  of  inspiration  came  to  John  Thompson 
at  this  moment. 


188  THE  CASSOWARY 

This  is  how  the  man,  thus  sublimated,  rea- 
soned: "All  the  other  girls  must,  necessarily,  as 
in  the  past,  wear  cut  flowers,  which  must,  to  an 
extent,  wither  before  the  judgment  of  the  Wise 
Ones  is  declared.  I  will  make  a  real,  living  gar- 
den of  my  darling's  head,  a  garden  in  which 
shall  bloom,  not  only  flowers  of  the  islands  here, 
but  of  Europe  and  America,  and  all  countries 
of  the  world.  Above  one  of  her  dark  eyes  shall 
dangle  such  a  bunch  of  glowing  and  living  pan- 
sies  as  the  Islanders  have  never  seen ;  the  phlox 
shall  lift  itself  aloft  from  her  coronet;  sweet 
peas  and  old-fashioned  pinks  shall  adorn  one 
side  of  her  shapely  head,  while  the  other  side 
will  be  blazing  with  tossing  poppies.  She  shall 
appear  among  the  contestants  with  such  a  crest 
as  never  a  queen  has  worn,  though  the  jewelers 
of  all  ages  have  struggled  to  make  a  surpassing 


crown." 


And  the  man  did  his  work.  "Eh,"  he  said,  as 
he  patted  the  matted  mass  of  dusky  hair,  "talk 
about  farms  in  the  States !  Here  is  an  area  of  the 
right  kind  for  the  support  of  a  family!  Talk 
about  landscape  gardening !  I'll  show  them  what 
real  landscape  gardening  is!" 

He  did. 

He  planted  right  and  left  with  ardor  and  good 


THE  AWARD  COULD   BUT  GO  TO   UNA   LOA 


A  SAMOAN  IDYL  189 

judgment,  for  he  was  not  only  an  enthusiast 
but  had  the  artist's  gift.  Una  Loa  yielded  be- 
cause she  had  the  trust  which  every  girl  should 
have  in  a  real  lover  of  good  character.  As  Thomp- 
son sowed  and  sowed,  she  submitted  with  all 
hopefulness  and  slept  each  night  with  her  neck 
upon  a  little  log,  that  each  flower  plant  might 
grow  without  abrasion  or  disturbance.  She  saw 
but  little  of  her  kin,  save  a  sister  who  stayed  be- 
side her,  for  Thompson  was  arrogant — said  he 
was  making  a  botanical  experiment — and  allow- 
ed none  to  visit  her. 

The  day  of  the  contest  came,  as  the  world 
went  round  and  round.  At  the  appointed  hour, 
all  the  Samoan  maidens  appeared  together,  each 
with  her  head  in  the  halo  and  glory  of  fair 
flowers.  But  there  was  no  contest.  Una  Loa 
stood  among  them  all  like  a  bright  spirit  from 
somewhere.  The  fragrance  from  the  flowers  upon 
her  head  sapped  itself  into  the  senses  of  all  who 
were  near  her,  and  there  was  a  glittering,  a  very 
splendor  of  brilliant,  multicolored  and  flaming 
humming-birds  about  her  queenty  head.  There 
was  no  discussion  among  the  judges.  The  award 
could  but  go  to  Una  Loa,  and  so  it  went! 

They  say  that  there  is  a  laziness,  which  is 
not,  after  all,  a  laziness,  begotten  in  those  who 


190  THE  CASSOWARY 

dwell  among  the  islands  in  the  Southern  Seas. 
It  is  but  adaptation,  possibly  most  sensible. 
Thompson  has  resigned  from  the  Weather  Bu- 
reau and  married  Una  Loa.  He  is  keeping  a 
cigar-store  in  South  Apia  and  is  doing  tolerably 
well. 

And  the  listeners  agreed  that  the  Lieutenant 
had  at  least  looked  upon  a  romance  as  genuine 
as  simple. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP 

None  had  acquired  a  more  general  regard 
among  the  passengers  than  the  Kansas  Farmer. 
He  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  typical  farmer 
as  represented  in  the  comic  publications  but 
was,  on  the  contrary,  a  well-dressed,  imposing 
looking  man  of  middle  age,  a  college  graduate, 
as  Stafford  knew,  and  one  who  had  selected  his 
occupation  because  it  appealed  to  him  as,  to 
their  own  and  general  good,  it  might  appeal  to 
hosts  of  others  of  the  educated  men  of  the  coun- 
try. Stafford  and  he  had  become  friends,  as 
was  almost  a  matter  of  course,  and  it  was  the 
former  who  insisted  that  the  Farmer  bring  to  the 
front  some  curious  experience  of  human  nature 
in  connection  with  farm  life.  "You  are  the  tree 
we  must  tap  now,"  he  jested.  "It's  just  because 
you  are  what  you  are  that  we  want  the  thing. 
Inevitably,  you,  with  your  experience  and  asso- 
ciations, can  tell  us  something  of  the  inner  being 
and  its  ways  on  a  farm  which  will  be  edifying. 
Tell  us  the  queerest  and  most  unexplainable 


191 


192  THE  CASSOWARY 

thing  you  remember  in  connection  with  such 
life  and  of  one  man  or  woman's  part  in  it." 

The  farmer  stroked  his  grizzled,  close-cut 
beard  and  laughed : 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  element  of  love  has 
entered  with  tolerable  regularity  into  most  of 
the  narratives  to  which  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  listening  here.  That  is  right,  certainly,  and 
natural.  What  I'm  going  to  tell  is  a  love  story, 
too,  in  its  way.  It  is  of  a  love  which  budded  and 
bloomed  but  bore  no  fruit,  for  the  oddest  reason 
in  the  world.  It  is  about  a  man  who  loved  a  wo- 
man and  was  won  away  by  sheep.  No,  he  wasn't 
exactly  won  away;  he  just  forgot.  It  was  the 
strangest  thing  I  ever  knew  or  heard  of,  but  it 
is  true.  I  know  the  man  and  his  sheep  myself, 
though  I  never  saw  the  woman.  This  is 

JASON'S  LOVE  STORY 

A  swamp  oak  stump  is  one  of  the  most  con- 
tumacious stumps  in  the  world.  It  is  usually 
big  and  its  roots  extend,  like  the  arms  of  an 
octopus,  in  all  directions  save  upward.  Fur- 
thermore, having  been  bred  to  the  wet,  feed- 
ing on  dampness  when  alive,  the  wood  does 
not  rot  willingly.  The  upper  portion  of  the 
stump  absorbs  the  showers  of  heaven  and  en- 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  193 

dures  the  cracking  heat  of  the  sun  apathetic- 
ally and  remains  pretty  much  the  same  for  a 
long  time,  while  the  roots  lie  solid  in  their 
dark  bed,  almost  regardless  of  the  years  as 
men  grow  old.  So  it  is  that  an  otherwise  clear- 
ed area  of  land  occupied  largely  by  swamp 
oak  stumps  is  what  the  farmers  in  Michigan's 
Lower  Peninsula  call  an  unpromising  place 
for  present  making  of  crops.  It  was  such  an 
area  that  Jason  Goodell — who  was  in  love — 
owned.  He  possessed  eighty  acres,  an  eighth  of 
a  section,  with  fifteen  acres  cleared — but  for 
stumps.  The  young  woman  whom  he  loved 
was  Melissa  Trumbull,  the  eldest  daughter  of 
"old  man"  Trumbull,  who  was  well-to-do. 
The  place  where  swamp  oaks  grow  is  of  a 
sort  to  command  respect.  It  has  features. 
It  is  often  a  black  ash  swale.  A  swrale  is  low 
ground,  but  not  a  swamp,  crossed  sometimes, 
at  irregular  intervals,  by  strips  of  higher  ground 
referred  to  generally  as  beech  ridges.  In  the 
lower  ground  thrive  the  black  ash,  the  huge 
swamp  oak,  various  moisture-loving  bushes 
and  luxurious  growths  of  ferns.  Up  on  the 
ridges  grow  the  maple,  the  white ,  ash,  the 
beech,  ironwood  and  birch  and  bushes  which 


194  THE  CASSOWARY 

do  not  object  to  less  damp  soil,  nannyberries 
elders  and  the  like. 

In  the  swale  proper  the  growth  underfoot 
is  bush  and  there  are  hundreds  of  puddles  where 
the  frogs  congregate  in  thousands,  mostly  the 
small,  brown  wood  frog,  not  the  big,  green 
' 'kerplunk"  sort  of  the  ponds  and  streams. 
Here  the  raccoon  finds  what  is,  to  him,  a  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  for  he  agrees 
with  a  frog  diet  as  a  frog  diet  agrees  with  him; 
here  upon  dead  white  trunks  the  solitary  log- 
cock,  the  great  black,  red-crested  wood-pecker, 
largest  of  his  genus,  hi  the  region,  hammers 
away  like  a  blacksmith;  here  the  hermit  thrush 
sings  sometimes;  and  here  little  streams  are 
born,  to  trickle  at  first,  then  ripple  and  then 
leap,  bubbling  and  noisy,  into  the  sloping 
fields  outside,  to  attain  the  dignity  of  brooks 
at  last  and  join  the  undercreek. 

On  the  beech  ridges  life  is  different.  There 
the  ruffed  grouse  struts  about  and  feeds  upon 
the  nuts  and  berries;  and  there  are  the  squir- 
rels, black,  gray  and  red.  The  grouse  raise 
great  families  on  the  ridges  and  the  wooing 
"drumming"  of  the  males  in  spring  is  like  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world.  It  is  the  most  distinc- 
tively wildwood  sound  there  is.  As  for  the 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  195 

squirrels,  the  black  is  no  longer  holding  his 
own  with  the  red  and  the  gray.  He  is  going 
like  the  Red  Indian  and  the  buffalo  and  no 
one  can  tell  why.  He  was  not  born  to  civili- 
zation. The  red  and  gray  adapt  themselves. 
Of  such  swale  and  ridge,  so  peopled,  consisted 
(as  has  been  said)  the  greater  portion  of  the 
estate  of  Jason  Goodell;  excellent  land  but 
requiring  much  work  hi  its  subjugation. 

Never  better  man  for  conquering  a  forest 
or  making  good  soil  yield  the  crops  it  has  owed 
than  this  same  brown-bearded  Jason  Goodell. 
Personally  strong,  six  full  feet  in  height, 
though  a  trifle  stooping,  and  slouchy  in  his  gait, 
thewed  like  a  draft-horse,  broad  of  forehead 
and  strong  of  chin,  with  firm  mouth  and  steady 
gray  eyes,  this  man  was  one  to  accomplish 
things  as  thoroughly  and  doggedly  as  Victor 
Hugo's  Gilliatt  toiling  sturdily  at  the  wrecked 
ship.  Like  Gilliatt,  too,  Jason  was  toiling 
for  love's  sake.  He  had  never  spoken  of  his 
passion  to  Melissa  Trumbull,  but  they  had  stud- 
ied together  hi  the  little  district  school,  had 
grown  up  together,  had  confided  their  plans 
and  hopes  to  each  other  and,  until  Jason  left 
the  employ  of  old  man  Trumbull  and  began 
work  on  his  own  "eighty,"  had  been  almost 


196  THE  CASSOWARY 

constantly  together.  To  Jason,  reticent,  and 
timid  as  well,  in  a  matter  of  this  sort,  it  never 
occurred  to  make  a  definite  engagement,  and 
to  Melissa,  black-eyed,  gingham-clad,  buoj^ant 
and  with  plenty  of  work  to  do,  the  situation 
doubtless  presented  itself  with  the  same  as- 
pect. No  pledged  word,  though  could  have 
made  the  matter  more  fixed  and  serious  than 
it  was,  at  least  to  Jason.  What  need  of  words? 
The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  make  a  home  for 
the  occupancy  of  two  young  married  people. 

So  Jason  built  a  rude  cabin  and  lived  in  it 
alone  and  began  clearing  his  land.  At  the  end  of 
the  second  year  he  had  fifteen  acres  in  crops  of 
grass  and  grain,  and  the  beginning  of  a  herd  of 
cattle  and  a  drove  of  hogs,  and  was  counted  by 
his  neighbors  as  a  young  man  who  would  be  well 
off  some  day.  They  were  right  in  their  conclu- 
sion Jason  was  the  one  to  succeed  as  a  farmer. 
Living  simply,  working  untiringly,  the  accom- 
plishments of  the  isolated  man  were  a  surprise 
even  to  the  rugged  farmers  who  knew  him  well. 
At  the  end  of  the  third  year  a  new  field  had  been 
hewed  into  the  forest  and  the  land  first  cleared 
had  become  more  easily  tillable.  Fire  had  fed 
on  the  stumps.  Half  a  dozen  cows  were  feeding 
on  the  grassland,  the  hogs  were  fattening  on 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  197 

last  year's  corn  crop  and  chickens  and  turkeys 
cackled  and  called  about  the  rough  log-barn. 
Butter  and  pork  and  eggs  had  a  value  at  the 
nearest  little  town,  and  Jason  had  saved  money. 
He  bought  another  eighty  acres  of  woodland — 
land  was  cheap  then — and  began  to  plan  the 
building  of  a  house.  There  was  Melissa ! 

No  log  house  should  this  mansion  be  but 
one  fit  for  a  bride's  reception.  It  should  be  a 
framed  house,  with  all  proper  rooms,  clap- 
boarded  as  to  the  sides  and  shingled  as  to  the 
roof.  There  should  be  a  porch  in  front  and  the 
building  should  be  of  two  stories.  Jason  brooded 
fondly  over  it  all  and  planned  and  dreamed.  He 
consulted  often  with  Jim  Rubens,  the  farmer 
carpenter  of  the  locality:  "Never  saw  a  man  so 
wrapped  up  in  his  house-buildin'  in  all  my 
life!"  said  Rubens. 

The  beams  and  plates  and  joists  and  rafters 
for  the  house  were  planned  and,  with  axe  and 
broad-axe  and  saw,  Jason  and  Rubens  labored 
in  the  forest  until  oak  and  pine  were  cut  and 
hewed,  true  to  the  line,  and  were  then  dragged 
by  toiling  oxen  to  the  site  of  the  house  of 
which  they  were  to  be  the  stay  and  strength. 
The  farmers  round  about  assembled  for  the 
raising,  there  were  heavings  and  shoutings,  the 


198  THE  CASSOWARY 

parts  were  reared  under  the  hoarse  overseeing 
of  Carpenter  Rubens  and  the  great  timbers, 
tongue  in  socket,  pinned  lastingly  together, 
stood  aloft,  the  sturdy  white  outline  of  a 
pleasant  home  to  face  the  roadway.  What  days 
they  were  for  Jason  as  the  two  men  labored 
afterward  for  weeks  until  the  house  stood  all 
complete  from  cellar  to  roof-peak,  and  even 
painted — white,  with  green  blinds,  of  course. 
Furnished  it  was  too,  well  furnished  for  the 
country.  It  was  the  finest  house  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  Jason  walked  through  the  rooms 
with  that  feeling  which  comes  to  a  man  of  pur- 
pose when  he  looks  upon  the  thing  accomplished. 
Not  yet,  though,  was  the  place  ready  for  Me- 
lissa. There  was  much  to  be  done  besides  the 
mere  building  of  a  shelter,  but,  even  now,  the 
front  part  of  it  must  be  sacred  for  her.  There 
Jason  nailed  up  the  door  solidly. 

What  comfort  could  a  farmer's  wife  have 
with  merely  a  house  to  live  in!  Here  must  be 
all  convenience  for  her  out-door  work  in  con- 
nection with  the  household  and  all  should  be 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  Jason  settled  down 
resolutely  to  what  was  yet  to  come 

Obviously  the  old  log  barn  had  outlasted  its 
original  purposes.  Its  small  stable  no  longer 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  199 

afforded  shelter  enough  for  the  increasing  herd 
of  cattle  and  the  horses  nor  its  mows  room  for 
the  hay  and  grain.  There  must  be  a  frame  barn, 
a  big  one,  with  high,  wide  doors  into  which  a 
team  with  a  load  might  be  driven  and  with  long 
stables  and  mows  and  roof  room  enough  for  all 
contingencies  of  harvest.  The  year  after  the 
completion  of  the  house,  the  barn  was  built  and 
the  one  of  logs  abandoned.  But  the  barn  had 
not  absorbed  Jason's  thoughts  so  fully  as  had 
the  house. 

The  lonely  toiling  of  the  man  was  not  lonely 
to  him.  He  was  strong  and  rejoiced  in  work,  and 
there  was  ever  Melissa  and  always  something  to 
be  done  for  her.  From  the  front  door  of  the  house 
down  to  the  roadway  he  made  a  wide  gravelled 
path  and  along  its  sides  he  made  beds  of  old- 
fashioned  pinks  and  sowed  and  planted  larkspur 
and  phlox  and  dahlias  and  peonies  and  golden 
coreopsis  and  bachelor's  buttons  and  other 
flowers  named  hi  the  circulars  of  a  seed  firm  in 
the  distant  city.  He  made  a  neat  picket  gate 
in  the  fence  where  the  walk  opened  on  the  road- 
way and  beside  the  fence  he  had  holly-hocks, 
and  sunflowers,  the  latter  trying  every  day  to 
see  Melissa,  and  turning  their  heads  resolutely 
from  sunrise  until  evening  and  going  to  sleep 


200  THE  CASSOWARY 

every  night  with  their  faces  toward  her  home, 
which  was  in  the  West.  Close  beside  the  house 
he  planted  rosebushes  and  "old  hen  and  chick- 
ens" and  lady-slippers  and  morning-glories,  and 
a  madeira  vine  for  the  porch.  There  was  a  path 
from  the  front  around  the  house  to  the  kitchen — 
which  had  a  porch  as  well — and  beside  this  path 
Jason  had  planted  an  abundance  of  sweet  briar, 
thinking  as  he  did  so  how  its  faint,  sweet  frag- 
rance and  fair  blossoms  would  match  Melissa. 
A  hop-vine  clambered  up  the  kitchen  porch. 
Jason  was  thirty  years  old,  now,  and  Melissa 
twenty-five. 

One  day  old  man  Trumbull,  who  was  a  great 
trader,  suddenly  disposed  of  his  farm  and  moved 
into  the  adjacent  county.  Somehow,  the  news 
did  not  have  much  effect  on  Jason  Goodell.  It 
would  be  as  easy  to  bring  her  from  thirty  miles 
away  as  from  where  she  had  lived,  he  reasoned. 
The  only  difference  to  come  would  be  that  he 
would  not  see  her  often  in  the  interval.  There 
had  never  been  any  correspondence  between 
them  and  it  did  not  occur  to  Jason  to  write  now. 

There  came  a  hard  whiter,  the  horses  and  cat- 
tle and  other  stock  required  close  attendance, 
and  Jason  was  much  about  the  house.  It  was  at 
this  time  when  he  discovered  the  faults  of  the 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  201 

kitchen  floor,  which  was  of  pine.  The  boards  had 
shrunk  and  there  were  cracks  and  the  soft  wood 
had  worn  away  under  the  tread  of  his  heavy 
feet.  That  sort  of  kitchen  floor  would  never  do 
for  Melissa !  He  made  a  new  floor  and  was  happy 
at  his  labor  all  through  "the  big  snow."  The 
floor  was  of  hard,  seasoned  ash,  matched  per- 
fectly and  smooth  as  the  floor  of  a  ball-room. 
"It  will  be  easier  to  mop"  said  he,  and  thought 
of  Melissa's  sunbonnet,  and  of  how  it  would 
look  hanging  against  the  whitewashed  wall. 

All  winter  in  Jason's  newer  eighty  acres  the 
axes  of  two  men  had  swung  hardily  and,  with 
spring  and  early  summer,  came  to  Jason  a 
stress  of  effort  in  helping  at  the  clearing  and  in 
attendance  on  the  crops.  He  had  little  time  for 
work  about  the  garden,  though  it  was  not  neg- 
lected, but  he  felt  that  he  must  somewhat 
change  his  home  life.  He  had  lived  hi  the  kitch- 
en and  a  little  room  adjoining  it.  He  had, 
from  the  time  the  house  was  built,  never  changed 
in  the  feeling  that  the  front  part  of  the  house 
was  sacred  to  Melissa,  but  he  felt  that  now  a 
little  change  must  come.  His  duties  were  in- 
creasing. He  must  have  a  hired  man  about  him, 
one  who  would  live  with  him.  So  the  hired  man 
came  and  slept  in  the  room  Jason  had  occupied 


202  THE  CASSOWARY 

while  Jason  slept  upstairs  in  what,  in  fancy,  he 
had  called  "our  room."  "She  won't  mind,"  he 
thought. 

There  is  spur  to  effort  for  the  real  farmer  and 
a  great  comforting  pride  in  looking  out  upon  a 
conquered  province,  to  note  the  corn  swaying 
full-eared,  the  timothy  and  clover  and  grain 
fields  changing  color  with  the  shift  of  the  clouds 
and  sweep  of  the  breeze,  the  lowing  cattle  in  the 
pastures  and  the  general  promise  of  Autumn's 
wealth.  Jason  enjoyed  it  all,  for  was  it  not  the 
product  of  his  design  and  energy,  and  as  the 
farm  grew,  he  grew  with  it.  Success  fairly 
earned  made  him  zealous  for  more.  He  broad- 
ened and  was  for  trying  things. 

One  day  old  Rubens  came  along,  and  leaning 
idly  over  the  front  fence,  began  a  farmer's  chat 
with  Jason,  who  was  digging  among  the  flowers. 
Rubens  looked  away  at  the  vacant  log  barn. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  old  barn?" 
he  asked,  "tool-house?" 

"No,"  said  Jason,  "I  have  a  tool-room  in  the 
big  barn.  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  with  the 
old  one.  Pull  it  down,  maybe." 

Rubens  gazed  meditatively  at  the  aban- 
doned but  still  sound  structure:  "It  would  make 
a  mighty  good  sheep  barn,"  he  suggested. 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  203 

No  more  was  said  at  the  time,  but  Ruben's 
idea  was  not  forgotten.  It  remained  in  Ja- 
son's mind  and  the  more  he  thought  upon  it 
the  more  he  became  impressed.  Jason  had 
never  raised  sheep,  successful  as  he  had  been 
with  other  animals.  He  considered,  and  right- 
ly, that  most  of  his  land  was  too  low  for  them. 
There  was  an  eighty  acres  of  woodland  ad- 
joining that  which  he  had  latest  bought  that 
was  hilly,  not  heavily  timbered  and  with  many 
springs  and  brooks.  Partly  cleared,  with  what 
woods  were  left  well  under-brushed,  it  would 
make  a  perfect  sheep  pasture.  He  had  half  a 
mind  to  buy  it  and  experiment.  And  the  plan 
grew  in  his  mind  until  it  overmastered  him  and 
he  bought  the  land. 

Not  the  sort  of  man  to  venture  upon  a  new 
venture  carelessly  was  Jason,  and  he  had  a 
problem  before  him  now :  What  sort  of  sheep 
should  he  raise?  His  cattle  and  hogs  were  of 
good  breeds  and  to  have  seen  to  it  that  it  was 
so  he  had  found  profitable.  With  sheep  he 
was  less  acquainted.  He  asked  advice.  "Get 
Merinos,  by  all  means,"  pronounced  Henry 
Wilson,  who  lived  to  the  north  of  him.  "Get 
Southdowns  and  nothing  else,"  said  James  Rem- 
ington, who  lived  to  the  west.  "I'll  get  twenty 


204  THE  CASSOWARY 

of  each  and  experiment  with  them  separately," 
decided  Jason. 

Now  as  between  the  Merino  and  the  South- 
down sheep  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed.  The 
Merino  is  small  with  gnarled  horns,  wrinkled 
neck  and  nose;  with  silk-like  wool  curling  close 
to  the  skin  in  its  fineness,  yellow  underneath 
because  of  its  oiliness,  and  dark  outside  be- 
cause of  the  dust  gathered  and  held  by  such 
close,  sticky  coat.  Well  tried  is  the  endurance 
of  the  sheep-washer  who,  in  late  spring  before 
shearing  time,  stands  waist  deep  in  some  stream 
and  seeks  to  cleanse  the  fleece  of  a  flock  of 
shivering  Merinos  driven  bleating  to  the  water, 
and  dreading  it  like  a  tramp.  But  the  fine 
Merino  wool  commands  a  price;  the  fleece  is 
heavy  and  the  breeder  profits  from  that,  not 
from  the  mutton.  The  flesh  of  the  Merino  re- 
quires for  its  consumption  people  who  have 
been  long  besieged  and  who  are  hungry. 

Different  is  the  quality  of  the  Southdown; 
not  from  Spanish  ancestors,  feeding  on  Anda- 
lusian  hills,  as  came  the  Merino,  did  he  come, 
but  from  Anglo-Saxon  forefathers  who  cropped 
the  herbage  of  the  Hampshire  and  Sussex  downs 
Big  and  white  of  body  and  dark-faced,  sturdy 
of  build  and  garbed  in  clean,  not  over  fine 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  205 

white  wool,  hornless  but  stepping  free  and  high, 
the  Southdown  has  a  healthy  individuality.  As 
concerns  his  mutton,  those  who  know  how  to 
eat,  and  what  to  eat,  speak  fluently  while  their 
eyes  glisten. 

And  almost  as  the  flocks  throve  under  Isaac, 
toiling  for  Rebecca,  throve  the  flocks  of  Jason, 
toiling  for  Melissa.  In  summer  and  autumn 
they  fed  in  the  new  pasture  land  and  hi  winter 
they  were  sheltered  and  fared  well  in  the  old 
barn,  now  renovated  and  with  a  great  shed 
attached  for  further  room.  Jason  became  ab- 
sorbed in  sheep-growing,  as  he  had  never 
been  before  in  the  growing  of  anything.  He 
read  books  on  the  subject  and  tried  experi- 
ments. At  the  end  of  the  third  year,  with 
good  flocks  now  his  he  selected  from  each  the 
finest  ram  and  ewe  and  entered  them  at  the 
County  fair.  He  wanted  to  learn  with  which 
breed  he  had  been  most  successful. 

Canny  and  just  are  almost  always  the  judges 
at  an  American  County  fair.  Known  person- 
ally throughout  the  region,  selected  for  their 
uprightness  and  knowledge  of  special  beast  or 
fowl  or  any  product  of  the  fields,  their  verdict 
is  almost  mechanically  accepted  as  a  final  and 
just  one.  More  and  more  interested  became 


206  THE  CASSOWARY 

Jason  regarding  the  issue  of  his  experiments  in 
thus  entering  into  competition  with  breeders, 
some  of  whom  had  raised  sheep  before  he  was 
born,  and  he  puzzled  himself  much  over  the 
problem  of  where,  in  the  opinion  of  these  un- 
biased experts,  he  would  prove  to  have  done 
best.  The  decision,  when  it  came,  was  hardly 
a  surprise  to  him.  His  Merinos,  it  is  true,  re- 
ceived favorable  mention,  but  his  Southdowns 
took  first  prize  in  a  field  where  there  was  de- 
cided and  worthy  competition.  A  proud  man 
was  Jason  Goodell  when  he  saw  the  blue  rib- 
bons tied  by  a  gray-bearded  giant  in  jeans 
about  the  necks  of  his  two  entries.  He  made 
an  instant  resolution.  "I'll  not  raise  wool,"  he 
said,  "I'll  leave  that  to  the  Ohioans  of  the 
Western  Reserve.  I'll  raise  mutton!" 

He  sold  the  prize-winners  for  a  mighty  price 
and  returned  to  his  farm.  Within  a  week  the 
flock  of  Merinos  was  sold,  as  well,  and  the  money 
so  received  was  invested  in  an  importation  of 
more  Southdowns,  with  blood  as  blue  as  that 
of  the  Hapsburgs,  and  far  stronger.  Then  began 
sheep-raising  that  was  sheep-raising. 

It  is  hard  to  serve  two  masters  and  it  must 
be  admitted  that,  since  his  thoughts  and  plans 
had  turned  so  absorbingly  to  Southdowns,  Jason 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  207 

felt  less  surpassingly  the  inspiration  of  Melissa. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  he  dreamed  of  her 
almost  nightly,  but,  now,  his  sleeping  visions 
were  of  great  flocks  upon  the  hillsides  and  the 
eyes  into  which  he  looked  were  not  always  the 
sparkling  ones  of  Melissa,  but  it  might  be  the 
soft,  gentle  eyes  of  quite  another  color  of  some 
great  ewe.  Dreams  are  grotesque  things. 

Still,  instinctively,  sometimes  fervently,  Ja- 
son worked  and  devised  for  the  girl  who  had 
gone  away.  The  big  orchard  back  of  the  house 
and  barns,  now  growing  into  fruitfulness,  he 
cared  for  well.  In  the  spring,  feeding  the  just- 
weaned  calves,  as  he  put  his  fingers  in  the  mouth 
of  some  vigorous  youngster  and  then  thrust  its 
muzzle  into  the  milk,  that  it  might  learn  to 
drink,  he  thought  as  the  calf  butted  joyously  at 
the  pail  as  if  it  were  his  own  mother,  how  Me- 
lissa would  like  the  calves  and  how  much  better 
than  he  she  would  attend  to  them!  He  was  some- 
what troubled,  too,  because  the  spring  in  the 
hollow  was  not  nearer  the  house — he  did  not 
want  Melissa  to  carry  water  so  many  yards — but 
he  planned  a  "spring-house"  with  a  cement  floor, 
where  Melissa  should  keep  the  milk  and  make 
the  butter.  That  would  be  less  labor  for  her. 
There  would  not  be  much  butter-making  anyhow 


208  THE  CASSOWARY 

He  was  not  going  to  have  butter  and  eggs  to 
sell.  Only  enough  cattle  and  horses  and  hogs 
and  chickens  for  farm  purposes  did  he  intend  to 
keep.  And  he  bought  yet  another  eighty  acres 
of  land. 

It  is  wonderful  how  some  over-mastering 
aim,  one  the  accomplishment  of  which  requires 
concentration  of  thought  and  exertion  of  all 
energy  in  one  direction,  will  get  its  grip  upon  a 
man  and  hold  it  to  the  end.  With  high  and  low 
it  is  the  same.  Mozart  died  with  the  score  of  the 
Requiem  Mass  hardly  dry  from  his  feeble  hand. 
Napoleon  died  with  the  word  of  command  upon 
his  lips.  Seekers,  investigators,  experimenters 
in  all  fields,  great  and  small,  have  grown  into  a 
forgetfulness  of  aught  save  one  object,  have  aban- 
doned all  outside,  and  have  dreamed  and  de- 
vised and  labored  toward  one  absorbing  end. 
Such  compelling  influence  in  life  may  come  to 
the  farmer  as  to  others.  With  Jason,  who  recog- 
nized a  farmer's  dignity,  who  knew  that  the 
farmer  often  fought  men's  battles  and  at  all 
times  fed  them,  the  attainment  of  his  own  am- 
bition was  nothing  small.  He  became  almost  a 
monomaniac  over  Southdowns.  How  they 
thrived ! — for  Nature  ever  loves  a  mentor.  Peas 
grew  where  oats  had  grown,  clover  where  was 


'THE  CHILDREN  CARRIED  AWAY  ARMFULS  OF  BLOSSOMS 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  209 

before  a  cornfield,  turnips  where  had  been  pota- 
toes, for  sheep  must  eat  in  winter.  It  became  a 
Southdown  farm,  and  acres  were  yet  added,  for 
the  undertaking  was  most  profitable — until  the 
time  came  when  Jason's  keen  eyes  could  not,  as 
he  stood  looking  from  the  barn  door,  reach  more 
than  vaguely  the  outlines  of  his  own  domain. 
One  day,  a  girl  wearing  a  sunbonnet  matching 
exactly  in  shape  and  color  the  one  Melissa  had 
once  worn,  passed  by  and  Jason's  thoughts  went 
back.  That  afternoon  he  took  horses  and  wagon 
and  drove  to  the  growing  town.  He  returned 
with  a  piano.  "Melissa  may  have  learned  to 
play/7  he  said  to  himself,  "and  she  will  be  glad 
to  find  it  here."  But,  for  weeks,  perhaps  for 
months  afterward,  no  Melissa  came  again  into 
his  waking  dreams  nor  in  his  sleep. 

He  had  abundance  of  help  about  him  now. 
Another  hired  man,  accompanied  by  his  wife, 
had  been  brought  into  the  house,  the  wife  prov- 
ing a  notable  housekeeper  and  relieving  Jason 
of  all  petty  duties.  He  visited  his  neighbors  and 
was  liked  among  them.  The  children  especially 
were  fond  of  him  and  he  allowed  them  to  visit 
his  house  at  will  and  to  carry  away  armfuls  of 
blossoms  from  his  great  flower-garden,  seeing  to 
it  only  that  they  did  not  harm  the  plants.  But 


210  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  parlor,  with  its  furniture  still  unworn,  though 
becoming  somewhat  old-fashioned  now,  and  with 
its  piano  still  untouched,  was  never  entered  except 
for  dusting,  and  the  front  door  was  never  opened. 

Far  and  wide  as  the  great  breeder  of  South- 
down sheep,  became  known  the  name  of  Jason 
Goodell,  and  his  flocks  and  barns  grew  with 
acres  steadily.  One  afternoon  a  traveling  nur- 
seryman came  to  see  him  upon  business  and 
stayed  to  dinner.  They  chatted  over  the  meal : 

"I  was  over  at  Wishtigo  last  week,"  said  the 
man;  "drove  over  one  day  and  came  back  the 
next.  Who  d'ye  think  I  met?" 

"Couldn't  guess." 

"I  met  County  Clerk  Jim  Lacey's  wife — her 
that  used  to  be  Melissa  Trumbull,  you  know. 
It  was  the  first  I  knew  of  it.  I  took  dinner 
with  'em;  she  wouldn't  allow  anything  else. 
They've  been  married  seven  years  and  they've 
got  a  mighty  nice  little  family:  three  children. 
Jim's  a  good  fellow." 

Jason  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  assented  deliberately:  "Yes,  Jim's  a  good 
fellow.  I've  met  him  often.  I  didn't  know 
whether  he  was  married  or  not,  though.  What 
was  it  you  said  about  them  young  pear  trees? 
I  may  take  a  dozen  or  two  of  'em." 


A  WOMAN  AND  SHEEP  211 

In  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  a  few  days 
later,  while  Jason  was  looking  ovar  the  sheep 
barns  and  giving  directions  to  the  men  at  work 
there,  a  sudden  fancy  came  upon  him.  He 
went  to  the  house,  asked  for  a  hammer  and 
withdrew  the  nails  from  the  front  door.  Then 
he  opened  all  the  parlor  windows  and  let  in 
the  sunlight.  "It'll  be  healthier,"  he  explained 
to  the  astonished  and  delighted  housekeeper. 
"Keep  them  open  as  much  as  you  want  to  now, 
in  pleasant  weather,  and  let  the  children  in, 
too,  if  they  like  it.  It'll  brighten  things  up." 

At  a  table  in  one  of  the  fine  restaurants  in 
the  big  city  sat,  recently,  at  dinner  a  man  and 
woman,  he  a  man  of  the  world,  she  charming 
as  women  so  often  are.  They  were  delighted 
with  the  wonderful  mutton  they  had  just  eaten 
and  were  talking  of  it. 

"It's  a  mutton  only  kings  would  be  allowed 
to  eat,  if  these  were  ancient  times,"  the  man 
asserted  laughingly.  "It's  delicate  as  straw- 
berries, though  that  isn't  a  good  comparison. 
It  may  have  come  direct  from  the  Goodell 
fields." 

"Who  is  Goodell?"  queried  the  lady. 

"Goodell,  my  dear  madam,  is  a  public  bene- 


212  THE  CASSOWARY 

factor.  He  is  one  of  the  wisest  raisers  of  South- 
down sheep  the  country  knows.  He's  a  splen- 
did old  fellow,  too.  I've  visited  his  farm  and 
met  him.  He's  awfully  fond  of  children." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    ENCHANTED    COW 

For  some  reason,  not  altogether  clear,  there 
was  no  comment  for  a  time  after  the  Farmer 
had  finished  his  account  of  the  affair  of  Jason 
and  the  girl  and  the  Southdown  sheep.  Per- 
haps it  was  because  of  the  grotesqueness  of  the 
idea  that  a  man  working  so  faithfully  for  and 
so  dreaming  of  his  love — a  practical  man — could 
have  left  absolute  possession  of  her  to  the  unreal, 
while  making  his  hobby  at  hand  the  real.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  the  Young  Lady : 

"That  is  very  strange  life  history,  it  seems  to 
me.  How  could  any  man,  a  real  man,  forget 
the  girl  he  cared  for  in  such  a  way?  It  seems 
all  wicked  and  unnatural." 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,"  explained  the 
Professor,  banteringly  ponderous,  "he  did  not 
forget  her.  In  fact,  from  the  account  he 
appears  to  have  been  a  most  devoted  lover. 
What  he  forgot  was  time.  Besides,"  he  con- 
tinued, "taking  the  broader  point  of  view,  how 
much  better  it  is  for  all  of  us  that,  in  one  region 


211 


214  THE  CASSOWARY 

at  least,  we  have  better  mutton  than  that  Jason 
should  have  raised  a  family!" 

"Bother  the  mutton!"  was  the  indignant  and 
somewhat  irreverent  answer,  and  then  the 
Colonel  intervened : 

"My  dear  Miss,"  he  explained  ingratiatingly, 
"I  am  confident  that  it  is  neither  the  Professor's 
lack  of  heart  nor  sympathy  nor  gallantry  that 
has  spoken,  but,  instead,  his  superior  and 
appreciative  judgment  in  the  matter  of  mutton. 
It  may  be  that  he  is  braver  than  some  of  us. 
However,  it  doesn't  matter,  because  your 
sensibilities  are  going  to  be  soothed  and  fed 
on  caramels  just  now.  I  am  most  confident  of 
that,  since  I  am  about  to  commandeer  the 
Poet.  Mr.  Poet,  there  is  no  alternative." 

There  is  something  anomalous  about  the 
successful  modern  poets.  They  are  usually 
disguised  as  citizens.  They  do  not  have  shaven 
faces  and  long  hair  and  another  world  expression 
upon  their  countenances.  Sometimes  they  have 
even  a  stubby  mustache  and  a  bad  look.  This 
particular  poet  chanced  to  be  good-looking, 
but  that  proves  nothing.  He  responded  easily 
enough : 

"Vocalism  is  difficult  to  me.  I'd  rather  write 
this  out.  I  can  tell  you  a  story,  though,  of  the 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  215 

region  where,  it  is  said,  were  sowed  the  Dragon's 
Teeth  from  which  sprang  the  men  who  later 
owned  the  Eastern  Hemisphere.  The  story 
of  the  Enchanted  Cow  has  the  merit  that  it  is 
true." 

THE  ENCHANTED  COW 

It  is  odd  how  often  when  from  some  legendary 
source  a  fairy  story  comes,  we  find  fact  mixed 
with  the  fancy.  This  tale,  for  instance,  might 
just  as  well  be  called  "Single  Hoof  and  Double 
Hoof"  or  the  "Wild  Ride  for  Caviare,"  as  to  be 
named  "The  Enchanted  Cow."  Certainly  every 
one  should  know  about  caviare,  and  why  some 
beasts  have  split  hoofs  and  some  round,  un- 
yielding ones,  but  that  enchantment  should 
have  anything  to  do  with  it  is  curious. 

Into  the  Danube  far  southwest  of  Buda-Pesth 
once  ran  a  deep,  still  stream  which  babbled 
when  it  began  hi  the  hills,  became  more  quiet 
as  it  reached  the  plain,  and  was  almost  sluggish 
when  it  entered  the  Black  Tarn,  as  the  broad 
sheet  of  water  was  called,  though  it  was  hi  fact 
a  lake  surrounded  by  sedgy  marshes.  The 
stream  after  feeding  and  passing  through  the 
Black  Tarn  became  a  deep  river,  and  broadened 
as  it  poured  itself  into  the  Danube,  the  father  of 
waters  of  all  the  region.  To  the  north  of  the 


216  THE  CASSOWARY 

Black  Tarn  was  the  Moated  Grange  where  lived 
the  Lady  Floretta  Beamish,  that  is  the  lady 
whose  name  would  have  been  that  if  translated 
into  English,  for  the  country  in  which  she  lived 
was  Hungary.  The  streams  which  would,  in 
English,  have  been  called  Ken  Water  after 
flowing  through  the  Black  Tarn  as  told,  went 
on  through  the  estate  of  Sir  Gladys  Rhinestone. 
It  is  true  that  Gladys  is  usually  accepted  as  the 
name  of  a  gentlewoman,  but  this  time  it  belonged 
to  a  gentleman,  and  one  of  high  degree.  He 
explained  his  name  himself  by  frankly  confessing 
that  he  had  been  named  after  his  mother. 

In  the  days  referred  to  people  of  the  class 
of  the  Lady  Floretta  Beamish  and  Sir  Gladys 
Rhinestone  were  generally  under  the  immediate 
sovereignty  of  a  prince,  and  the  prince  in  their 
case  was  scarce  a  model.  The  one  to  whom 
all  of  that  part  of  Hungary  owed  allegiance 
was  Prince  Rugbauer,  and  he  was  hardly  of  a 
type  to  be  called  gentle  or  considerate.  In 
fact  none  of  the  people  of  the  lands  about  were 
accustomed  to  pronounce  the  name  of  Prince 
Rugbauer  above  a  whisper.  Whenever  it  be- 
came necessary  to  allude  to  the  prince,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  country  were  used  to  make 
the  motion,  hand  on  throat,  of  strangling.  This 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  217 

was  a  direct  allusion  to  the  prince's  system  of 
taxation,  and  was  understood  by  the  humblest 
knave  in  the  whole  valley  of  Ken  Water.  Even 
the  prince  knew  the  meaning  of  this  gesture, 
though  when  first  told  of  it  he  but  laughed 
grimly  and  no  one  ever  spoke  to  him  again  about 
it.  It  was  the  witch  of  Zombor  who  told  the 
prince.  Anything  malicious  might  be  expected 
from  her. 

It  was  because  of  the  witch  that  the  cow  was 
in  trouble.  The  witch  had  enchanted  the  cow 
for  a  thousand  years,  and  the  seven  hundredth 
year  was  passing  when  this  tale  begins.  It  may 
be  said  straightforwardly  of  the  witch,  that  she 
was  one  of  the  worst  of  a  disagreeable  class  of 
beings  now,  happily,  becoming  rare.  She  lived 
in  a  sort  of  hutch,  a  round  mud-walled  den  on 
a  hill  which  would  be  called  Endbury  Moon  in 
English,  and  throughout  the  day  she  lay  curled 
up  in  this  den  like  a  snail  in  its  shell,  but  at 
night  she  came  out  regularly  to  work  such  mis- 
chief as  she  might  in  the  country  round  about. 
Wherever  she  found  there  was  no  trouble  she 
proceeded  at  once  to  brew  some.  There  was 
no  end  to  her  pernicious  activity. 

The  Lady  Floretta  Beamish  was  an  orphan 
and  sole  mistress  of  the  two-towered  Grange 


218  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  all  the  lands  and  waters  a  mile  either  up 
and  down  the  deep  Ken  Water.  But  the  land 
was  far  from  rich,  and  the  revenues  of  the  lady 
came  mostly  from  the  sturgeon  in  the  river 
which  were  caught  each  year  in  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  Danube  itself.  The  Lady  Floretta 
was  a  very  beautiful  creature.  Her  hair  was 
of  a  pale  golden  hue,  and  her  eyes  were  blue. 
Her  cheeks  were  like  June  roses.  She  was  tall 
and  fair,  and  walked  around  the  walled  Grange 
hi  a  long  white  satin  robe  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  down  her  back  rippled  the  golden 
hair,  even  to  the  hem  of  her  trailing  gown. 

It  required  the  services  of  seven  maidens  and 
seven  hours  daily  to  comb  and  brush  the  Lady 
Floretta's  hair,  but  they  did  not  mind  it.  The 
seven  maids  had  nothing  else  to  do,  so  they 
combed  and  they  combed,  and  they  brushed 
and  they  smoothed  the  pale  golden  treasure 
of  their  mistress'  hair,  fastening  each  shining 
braid  of  it  at  last  to  the  hem  of  her  trailing 
gown,  with  pins  sparkling  with  diamonds, 
moonstones,  rubies  and  emeralds.  Why  the 
Lady  Floretta  did  not  dispose  of  some  of  these 
jewels  when  the  strait  came,  which  will  be  told 
of,  it  is  not  easy  to  understand.  It  may  be  they 
were  all  heirlooms  and  so  not  to  be  parted  with. 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  219 

A  year  of  trial  came  at  last  for  both  the  Lady 
Floretta  and  Sir  Gladys  Rhinestone.  No  fish 
were  caught  and  that  was  a  disaster  which 
affected  everything.  The  fish  were  the  fortune 
of  the  country,  for  from  the  eggs  of  the  great 
sturgeon  was  made  the  caviare,  without  which 
no  true-born  noble  of  the  realm  could  make  a 
tolerable  meal.  The  caviare  was  shipped  away 
to  all  parts  of  the  civilized  world  as  it  is  now, 
and  it  will  be  seen  that  to  have  the  stream  fail 
of  fish  was  a  calamity  of  first  magnitude. 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  the  manner 
of  fishing  in  those  days,  and  they  fish  in  the 
same  way  upon  the  Danube  now.  They  cut  a 
great  gap  through  the  ice  in  the  whiter,  the  gap 
extending  across  the  stream,  and  in  it  they  set 
monster  nets.  Then,  miles  above  the  nets,  a 
band  of  horsemen  ranged  themselves  straight 
across  the  river  on  the  ice,  which  would  bear 
an  army,  and  at  a  signal  blast  come  thundering 
down  at  utmost  speed.  The  noise  was  terrific. 
U0he!  ohe!  a  hun!  a  hun!"  yelled  the  wild 
horsemen,  there  was  a  blare  of  trumpets  and 
the  strong  ice  trembled  beneath  the  impact  of 
the  mighty  hoofs.  The  timid  sturgeon  fled 
beneath  the  ice  before  the  pursuing  shock,  and 
at  last  rushed  blindly  into  the  awaiting  nets, 


220  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  be  taken  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands. 
But  from  Ken  Water,  though  the  horsemen 
rode  as  in  the  past,  no  fish  were  found.  The 
stewards  explained  that  the  stream  had  run  very 
low,  and  that  the  fish  had  gone  either  to  the 
Danube  or  the  depths  of  the  Black  Tarn.  The 
case  was  very  bad.  Prince  Rugbauer  an- 
nounced that  Sir  Gladys  and  Lady  Floretta 
were  false  traitors  both,  and  announced  as  well 
that  he  would  cancel  their  ownership  of  their 
lands  and  castles,  and  hold  them  no  better 
than  common  folk  themselves  unless  the  heavy 
annual  taxes  were  paid  within  a  week. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  one  night  that  from 
his  castle  Sir  Gladys  paced  with  bowed  head 
along  Ken  Water,  around  the  Black  Tarn  toward 
the  witch's  hut  on  Endbury  Moor,  and  at  the 
same  time,  the  moon  over  her  right  shoulder, 
came  to  the  desolate  hill-top  Lady  Floretta, 
each  bent  on  consulting  the  Witch  as  to  what 
should  be  done  about  the  fish  that  had  left 
Ken  Water. 

The  Witch,  seated  on  top  of  her  hut,  gave 
what  is  called  in  old  stories,  an  eldritch  kugh 
when  she  saw  Sir  Gladys  advancing  on  one  side 
of  the  Moor,  and  Lady  Floretta,  more  slowly 
climbing  up  the  other. 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  221 

When  the  Lady  Floretta  heard  the  strange 
laugh  of  the  Witch,  she  was  startled  and  alarmed 
and  stood  still  for  the  space  of  a  full  half-hour, 
while  her  seven  maidens  coaxed  her  to  go  on,  and 
so  Sir  Gladys,  who  was  less  affected  by  the 
eldritch  laugh  than  she  and  who,  moreover,  was 
alone,  arrived  first  at  the  Witch's  haunt  and 
secured  audience  at  once.  He  gave  the  Witch 
a  gold-plated  candlestick  and  two  sugar  spoons 
of  silver,  then  explained  his  woeful  plight,  and 
asked  advice  and  counsel. 

The  Witch  clutched  the  articles  eagerly  in 
her  claw-hands,  climbed  down  from  the  little 
hut,  and  standing  in  her  low  door  croaked  out : 

"By  the  light  of  yonder  moon, 
Look  and  see  your  fortune  soon!" 

She  thrust  the  candlestick  and  sugar  spoons 
into  a  bag  at  her  girdle,  and,  curling  up  within 
her  hut,  fell  fast  asleep  without  ceremony,  leav- 
ing Sir  Gladys  peering  doubtfully  in  at  the  door 
which  she  had  left  open.  What  she  had  said 
was  certainly  vague  and  unsatisfactory  and  he 
felt  that  he  had  been  imposed  upon.  He  tried 
in  vain  to  arouse  the  creature  and  tiring  at  last 
of  shouting  into  the  hut  at  a  figure  apparently 
of  stone,  he  turned  away  but  to  meet,  fair  and 
full,  the  beautiful  Lady  Floretta  Beamish 


222  THE  CASSOWARY 

attended  by  the  seven  maidens  carrying  seven 
lighted  horn  lanterns,  and  followed  by  a  gentle 
snow-white  cow  with  golden  horns  and  hoofs. 

Sir  Gladys  swept  the  heather  with  his  plumed 
hat,  as  he  bowed  before  the  Lady  Floretta. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  with  deep  respect,  "upon 
what  quest  do  you  come  upon  this  lonely  moor 
by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon  feebly  aided 
by  the  seven  lanterns  carried  by  your  maidens?" 

The  Lady  Floretta  could  not  speak.  Her  em- 
barassment  and  confusion  were  such  that  she 
could  scarcely  stand  even  when  supported  by 
her  maidens.  She  looked  around  for  a  chair. 

Sir  Gladys  took  from  his  shoulders  his  cloak 
of  purple  velvet,  and  spread  it  at  the  lady's  feet. 
"Rest,"  he  said,  "rest,  and  recover  your 
strength,  fair  and  honored  Lady!  I  will  await 
your  pleasure,  meanwhile  examining  the  unusual 
specimen  of  the  animal  kingdom  which  I  see 
following  your  gracious  footsteps." 

He  took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  Enchanted 
Cow — for  it  was  she — but  she  shook  her  golden 
horns,  and  he  remained  standing  near  the  Lady 
Floretta,  who  sat  down,  affably  and  quite 
comfortably,  upon  the  cloak  of  purple. 

"Hark  to  the  thunder!"  said  the  Lady 
Floretta.  "It  is  going  to  rain!"  and  she  began 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  223 

to  chide  the  maids  for  not  bringing  umbrellas. 
Each  it  is  true  had  a  small  parasol  to  ward  off 
moon-stroke,  but  there  was  not  one  umbrella 
worthy  of  the  name  among  them  all. 

"It  is  not  thunder  that  you  hear,  sweet  lady," 
said  Sir  Gladys.  "  'Tis  but  the  stertorous  and 
unseemly  breathing  of  the  foul  Witch  in  the 
den." 

"Oh,  is  she  asleep?  And  no  one  dares  awaken 
her !"  sighed  the  Lady  Floretta.  "I  have  walked 
a  weary  distance  to  consult  her,"  she  explained, 
as  she  became  convinced  that  the  sounds  she 
had  heard  indeed  came  from  the  Witch's  hut. 

Sir  Gladys  came  nearer,  the  seven  maidens 
drew  nearer,  the  Enchanted  Cow  herself  walked 
closer  to  Lady  Floretta,  as  she  sat  upon  the 
cloak  spread  upon  the  heather,  and  there  in  the 
summer  night  the  Lady  Floretta  and  Sir  Gladys 
exchanged  confidences  and  condolences  about 
their  sore  strait,  and  often  made  the  dread 
gesture  as  they  talked,  for  neither  thought 
best  to  name  the  Prince  Rugbauer  and  both 
were  too  well-bred  to  whisper  in  company. 

The  seven  maidens  sitting  there  on  the 
heather,  fell  asleep,  each  nodding  over  her  horn 
lantern.  The  Enchanted  Cow,  however  was 
wide  awake,  and,  from  her  expression,  appeared 


224  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  sympathize  deeply  with  the  two  distressed 
mortals  whose  troubles  were  so  freely  poured 
forth  in  her  presence.  They  spoke  of  the 
disastrous  happening  of  the  whiter,  and  of  the 
probable  hopelessness  of  an  attempt  to  retrieve 
their  fortunes  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

"The  outlook  is  black  indeed/'  remarked 
Sir  Gladys,  and  the  Lady  Floretta  agreed  with 
him  dejectedly. 

"It  is  the  Split  Hoof  that  you  need/'  said  a 
soft  deep  voice,  and  the  two  turning  their  heads 
saw  the  Enchanted  Cow  looking  upon  them 
earnestly.  It  was  she  who  had  spoken. 

Sir  Gladys  and  Lady  Floretta  were  dumb 
with  astonishment.  After  a  brief  silence,  the 
Enchanted  Cow  continued:  "Last  winter  when 
you  rode  furiously  upon  the  frozen  stream  the 
thunder  of  your  horses'  hoofs  scared  no  fish 
into  your  nets,  and  when  spring  came  the  water 
was  as  low  as  it  had  been  the  summer  before 
and  is  still  shallow.  But  I  know  where  the  fish 
are  hidden  and  that  they  have  not  spawned. 
I  stand,  during  the  heat  of  these  summer  days, 
knee  deep  in  the  water  in  the  shallows  of  the 
Black  Tarn,  and  I  see  what  I  see." 

"Dear  Enchanted  Cow,"  said  the  Lady 
Floretta,  "please  tell  us  what  you  see!" 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  225 

"This  one  night  in  the  year,"  resumed  the 
Enchanted  Cow,  without  appearing  to  notice 
what  the  Lady  Floretta  has  said,  "this  one 
night  in  the  year,  and  the  only  one  night  in  the 
year,  yonder  crafty  Witch  must  sleep.  She 
cannot  awaken  until  midnight  and  this  is  the 
one  night  in  the  year  that  the  Witch's  spell  is 
lifted  from  me,  and  I  am  given  the  power  of 
speech  until  the  clock  strikes  twelve." 

"Oh!  however  can  you  stand  it  to  be  dumb 
so  much  of  the  time?"  exclaimed  the  pitying 
Lady  Floretta. 

The  Enchanted  Cow  looked  at  the  Lady  in 
surprise,  for  it  is  a  great  and  beneficent  thing 
to  a  cow  to  be  allowed  to  speak  at  all. 

"It  is  getting  late,"  said  Sir  Gladys,  looking 
at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  one  of  the  lanterns, 
and  then,  addressing  the  White  Cow:  "You 
were  making  an  interesting  observation  con- 
cerning fish  in  the  Black  Tarn,  if  I  mistake  not." 

"The  Black  Tarn  is  full  of  the  great  fish," 
the  Enchanted  Cow  declared.  "They  have 
taken  refuge  there,  Ken  Water  being  so  low. 
You  have  but  to  stretch  your  nets,  draw  them, 
and  reap  your  harvest." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,"  urged  Sir  Gladys, 
"the  Black  Tarn  is  surrounded  by  fens  and 


226  THE  CASSOWARY 

marshes.  Our  horses  were  mired  in  trying  to 
take  out  boats  and  nets  this  spring,  when  the 
ice  first  broke  and  we  thought  to  fish  in  the 
Black  Tarn,  at  a  venture." 

"As  I  remarked  at  the  beginning  of  this 
conversation,"  said  the  White  Cow,  somewhat 
testily,  "it  is  the  split  hoof  that  you  need- 
Just  then  the  distant  Church  clocks  of  the 
Saag  could  be  heard,  all  striking  the  hour  of 
twelve. 

The  White  Cow  turned  at  once  and  walked 
in  the  direction  of  the  Black  Tarn,  and  Sir 
Gladys,  the  Lady  Floretta  and  the  seven 
maidens,  now  fully  awake,  followed,  the  more 
speedily  because  of  a  screech  from  the  Witch, 
as  she  burst  from  the  door,  her  inevitable  yearly 
nap  at  an  end. 

But  no  word  could  be  heard  from  the  En- 
chanted Cow.  She  looked  meaningly  at  Sir 
Gladys,  though,  and  that  gallant  gentleman 
seemed  plunged  in  thought  as  the  little  party 
of  wanderers  left  the  white  figure  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  swampy  ground  which  sur- 
rounded the  Black  Tarn.  Sir  Gladys  escorted 
the  Lady  Floretta  home,  and  what  the  two  said 
to  each  other  as  they  hurried  over  the  moor 
toward  the  Moated  Grange  is  what  no  one  need 


SIR  GLADYS  ESCORTED  THE  LADY  FLORETTA  HOME' 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  227 

consider.  They  were  companions  in  misfor- 
tune, and  so  drawn  closely.  Having  bowed 
to  the  ground  at  the  Great  Gate,  and  having 
seen  it  close  on  the  disappearing  forms  of  the 
lady  and  her  seven  maidens,  Sir  Gladys  hied 
him  home,  with  quickened  step.  All  the  while 
he  was  thinking  deeply.  He  had  been  from 
boyhood  a  student  of  natural  history. 

Away  back  hi  the  past  so  dim  and  distant 
that  only  the  most  learned  can  talk  of  it  intelli- 
gently, away  in  the  time  after  the  earth  had 
risen  from  the  warm  waters  and  when  the  great 
reptiles  had  given  place  to  animals,  something 
like  those  which  exist'to-day,  the  hoofs  of  all  the 
quadrupeds  were  split.  The  land  was  low  and 
marshy  then,  and  the  split  hoof  best  supported 
its  owner  on  the  yielding  surface.  As  the  earth 
protruded  more  and  more,  and  dry  and  some- 
times rocky  land  uprose,  such  beasts  as  fre- 
quented the  hills  found  that  their  hoofs  were 
changing  slowly  with  the  centuries.  Hard  and 
round  the  hoofs  became  as  was  best  for  the  hill 
dwellers,  but  the  beasts  of  the  shores  and  low- 
lands retained  the  split  hoof  and  still  can  tread 
the  morass.  This  the  Enchanted  Cow  knew. 
This,  Sir  Gladys  Rhinestone,  who  had  studied 
natural  history,  knew  as  well. 


228  THE  CASSOWARY 

It  was  four  in  the  morning  by  the  great  clock 
of  the  Castle  when  Sir  Gladys  stood  in  the  center 
of  the  stone-paved  courtyard  and  wound  his 
horn.  At  the  sound  every  man  in  the  Castle 
and  its  surrounding  buildings,  and  on  the  farms 
about,  became  astir,  and  soon  Sir  Gladys  had 
his  trusty  henchmen  a  dozen  deep  about  him. 
His  words  of  command  sent  them  scattering 
in  all  directions,  and  sunrise  beheld  a  sturdy 
band,  headed  by  Sir  Gladys,  leaving  the  Castle 
Gate  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Black 
Tarn.  With  the  men  marched  fifty  of  the  great 
red  oxen  of  Rhinestone,  and  upon  their  mighty 
shoulders  they  bore  the  heavy  nets  and  boats 
of  the  once  lucky  fisherman  of  Ken  Water. 

Sir  Gladys  had  taken  the  White  Cow's  hint, 
and  set  the  split  hoof  to  do  what  the  whole  hoof 
could  not  accomplish. 

A  messenger  was  sent  to  the  Moated  Grange 
requesting  the  Lady  Floretta  to  visit  the  shore 
of  the  Black  Tarn,  and  thither  the  procession 
moved  and  soon  the  Tarn  was  reached.  Then 
followed  a  scene  of  which  the  story  was  told 
for  years,  for  it  was  something  worth  the  seeing. 
The  great  tractable  oxen,  encouraged  doubtless 
by  the  Enchanted  Cow  who  stood  knee-deep 
in  the  oozy  margin  awaiting  them,  bore  out 


THE  ENCHANTED  COW  229 

bravely  into  the  black  waters  through  reeds  and 
sedge  and  yielding  mud  and  made  a  mighty 
splashing  toward  the  center  of  the  lake  where 
in  a  semicircle  were  gathered  the  fishermen 
with  their  boats  and  nets.  The  waters  near  the 
shore  were  churned  into  a  foam,  and  the  watch- 
ers looking  outward  could  see  the  long  wakes 
of  the  frightened  sturgeon  as  they  fled  to  certain 
capture. 

And  the  nets  were  filled  to  the  overflowing; 
so  heavy  were  they  that  the  great  oxen  could 
scarcely  draw  them  to  firm  land.  So  the  great 
work  was  accomplished,  the  Lady  Floretta  and 
her  maidens  coming  in  time  to  see  it  all.  There 
were  fish  enough  to  furnish  caviare  enough  it 
would  seem  for  half  the  world. 

It  was  well  that  their  two  estates  joined,  for 
while  during  the  fishing,  the  Lady  Floretta  and 
Sir  Gladys  had  been  sitting  on  the  strand  of  the 
Black  Tarn — Sir  Gladys'  cloak  around  the  Lady, 
for  the  day  grew  chill — they  had  declared  each 
to  the  other  their  determination  to  join  their 
lives  and  their  fortunes  together  from  that  hour, 
and  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  by  the  tune  the  fish 
eggs  were  turned  into  caviare  and  sold  and  the 
money  was  in  hand  to  pay  Prince  Rugbauer's 
taxes,  Sir  Gladys  Rhinestone  had  made  the 


230  THE  CASSOWARY 

Lady  Floretta  Beamish  his  bride,  and  what 
was  good  or  ill  fortune  for  one  was  the  same 
for  the  other. 

And  this  is  also  told,  that,  as  for  the  En- 
chanted Cow,  ever  afterward  she  wandered  at 
will  on  the  moors  in  summer,  and  was  well  cared 
for  at  the  castle  or  the  Moated  Grange  in  winter. 
And  ever  on  the  night  of  the  Witch's  sleep,  the 
cow  was  visited  in  state  by  fair  Sir  Gladys  and 
Lady  Floretta,  for  nothing  is  more  excellent  than 
gratitude. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LOVE  AND  A  ZULU 

Mrs.  Livingstone,  who  had  become  accepted, 
by  this  time,  to  the  Colonel's  great  delight,  as 
a  sort  of  lovingly  hesitant  chaperon  and  hostess 
of  the  accidental  House  Party,  was  now,  doubt- 
less to  her  own  surprise,  the  one  to  take  the  ini- 
tiative : 

"Did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr  Poet, 
that  what  you  just  related  was  strictly  true?" 

"Yes,  Madam,  certainly,"  was  the  calm  and 
unabashed  reply  of  the  person  addressed. 

"Thank  you,"  was  the  gentle  answer,  "it 
was  beautiful,"  and  then  she  turned  to  her 
husband,  "Colonel,  won't  you  please  request 
one  of  the  stern  business  men  here  to  tell  some- 
thing, something  reliable,  and  of  the  present 
time?" 

The  Colonel's  quizzical  eye  had,  for  some 
moments  rested  upon  the  Broker,  to  the  evident 
disquietude  of  that  gentleman,  though  it  was 
clear  that  he  would  not  seek  to  avoid  the  issue 
when  his  time  for  effort  came.  He  had  not 

231 


232  THE  CASSOWARY 

listened  to  the  tale  which  had  been  told  as 
intently  as  he  might  and  there  was  a  look  upon 
his  face  as  of  a  man  recalling  memories.  He 
was  mentally  preparing  himself  for  the  Colonel's 
onslaught — and  it  came. 

"Mr.  Broker,"  said  the  genial  tyrant,  "gentle- 
men of  your  type  in  the  business  world  are 
about  the  best  fellows  going,  and,  as  I  know, 
from  listening  interestedly  a  thousand  times, 
are  always  telling  good  stories,  when  not  going 
crazy  'on  'change.'  Your  turn  has  come  and 
your  fate  is  sealed  beyond  all  peradventure. 
Sir,  we  await  you." 

The  Broker  "accepted  the  situation :"  "I've 
been  anticipating  this  emergency  and  have 
been  preparing  for  it  as  much  as  possible.  I 
don't  know  that  it  is  what  might  be  called  a 
strictly  business  story,  but  it  is  that  of  how  a 
friend  of  mine — an  admirable  man — made  a 
lot  of  money  and  gained  one  of  the  prettiest 
wives  in  the  world.  I  think  we  might  call  it 

LOVE  AND  A  ZULU 

In  every  drop  of  the  blue  blood  of  St.  Louis 
there  is  a  bubble  of  sporting  blood.  This  is  a 
love  story  of  St.  Louis,  with  filaments  of  fact 
entwining  themselves  with  the  lighter  filaments 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  233 

of  fancy.  The  St.  Louis  lover — of  course, 
there  are  exceptions — loves  with  his  whole 
heart,  and  in  his  constant  heart,  with  every 
pulsation,  throbs  the  idea  of  chance.  So,  the 
great  city  on  the  banks  of  the  Father  of  Waters 
is  a  city  of  honorable  betting. 

John  Driscoll  was  in  trouble.  John  Driscoll, 
aged  twenty-seven,  was  a  lone  scion  of  one  of 
the  best  families  of  St.  Louis,  a  city  where 
they  have  good  families,  certainly.  DriscolPs 
trouble  was  of  the  sort  which  tries  a  man.  He 
was  desperately  hi  love  with  a  fair  young 
woman,  but  consent  to  the  marriage  was  abso- 
lutely refused  by  the  young  woman's  father 
until  Driscoll  should  be  worth  at  least  twenty 
thousand  dollars;  and  a  very  obstinate  old 
gentleman  was  Mr.  Cameron,  who  owned  much 
real  estate  and  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the 
solid  men  of  a  solid  city.  It  was  not  altogether 
a  harsh  impulse  which  had  brought  this  decree 
from  him.  He  wanted  Driscoll  to  show  that 
he  had  business  ability,  for  Driscoll  had  been 
something  of  a  figure  socially  and  not  much 
of  a  figure  otherwise.  Mr.  Cameron  was  very 
fond  of  his  daughter  Jessie.  John  Driscoll 
had  been  left,  on  the  death  of  his  mother,  with 
a  fortune  of  only  eighteen  thousand  dollars; 


234  THE  CASSOWARY 

two  thousand  dollars  were  already  gone  and 
he  had  earned  nothing.    In  order,  therefore, 
to   meet  the  requirement  of  his  prospective 
father-in-law,  he  must,  somehow,   make  four 
thousand  dollars.    It  may  be  said  to  his  credit 
that  he  lacked  neither  earnestness  nor  courage. 
He   devoted   himself   at  once   to   a   vigorous 
endeavor  to  gain  the  required  sum.    He  worked 
with  feverish  earnestness.    He  became  solic- 
itor for  an  insurance  company,  and,  with  his 
wide  acquaintance,  made  a  moderate  success 
of  the  business  from  the  beginning.     It  was  hard 
to  endure — for  love  is  impatient — but  the  man 
did  not  flinch.    At  the  end  of  a  year  he  had  a 
little  over  eighteen  thousand  dollars  in  bank 
and  admirable  prospects.    But,  as  above  wisely 
remarked,  love  is  exceedingly  impatient.    He 
was  offered  a  chance  in  a  speculation  which 
promised  to  gain  for  him  two  thousand  dollars 
at  once,  and  yielded  to  the  temptation — though 
persuaded  against  it  by  the  girl  he  loved  and 
who  loved  him.     Instead  of  gaining  two  thou- 
sand dollars,  he  lost  two  thousand,  and  was 
back    at    the    sixteen    thousand    dollar  notch 
again.    A  year  had  been  wasted. 

At  the  northeast  corner  of  Elm  Street  and 
Broadway  is  a  famous  place — half  restaurant, 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  235 

half  summer  garden — where  theatre  parties 
go,  and  where  the  gilded  youth  of  the  city  eat, 
drink  and  are  merry.  Nonsensical  propositions 
arise  among  these  young  gentlemen  with  money 
and,  in  many  instances,  with  brains  as  well. 
One  evening  at  one  of  the  tables  there  arose 
a  discussion  over  the  old  problem  of  whether 
or  not  the  ordinary  man  could  eat  thirty  quail 
in  thirty  days.  The  discussion  became  warm. 
"It  is  absurd,"  said  a  young  man  named  Graham 
— "the  whole  idea  of  it.  Why,  after  a  hard 
day's  shooting  in  Texas,  I  once  ate  six  quail  at 
a  single  meal.  That  means  that  even  a  man  of 
my  size  can  eat  thirty  quail  in  five  days,  doesn't 
it?" 

"Well,  it  may  or  may  not,"  was  the  response 
of  a  youth  named  Malvern,  one  of  the  group; 
"but  eating  six  quail  in  one  day,  or  thirty  quail 
in  six  days,  is  not  the  matter  under  discussion. 
One  of  the  most  exquisite  forms  of  torture  known 
to  the  Chinese,  is  to  bind  a  prisoner  so  that  he 
cannot  move  his  head,  and  then,  from  a  reser- 
voir above,  allow  drop  after  drop  of  water  to 
fall  upon  his  head.  At  first  it  is  nothing,  but, 
finally,  there  comes  an  uncomfortable  sensa- 
tion, then  pain,  and,  in  the  end,  an  exquisite 
agony.  The  victim  dies  or  goes  insane.  A 


236  THE  CASSOWARY 

barrel  of  water  poured  upon  him  at  once  would 
not  have  affected  him  at  all.  So  it  is  with 
eating  thirty  quail  in  thirty  days.  It  is  the 
monotony  for  all  those  days — the  thing  that 
cannot  be  avoided — that  tells.' ' 

"Bah!"  said  Graham.  "I  don't  take  your 
view  of  the  case.  Fve  the  courage  of  my  con- 
victions, and  I'll  bet  you  five  hundred  dollars 
that  I  will  eat  thirty  quail  hi  thirty  days,  break- 
fasting here  at  nine  o'clock  each  morning  and 
eating  my  quail  then." 

"Done!"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "You're 
not  the  only  fellow  who  has  the  courage  of  his 
convictions.  We'll  appoint  a  committee  of 
observation,  and  breakfast  here  together  regu- 
larly. There'll  be  fun  in  the  thing,  whatever 
the  outcome." 

The  committee  was  appointed,  and  the  next 
morning  saw  a  hilarious  group  seated  about 
the  table.  Graham  was  full  of  confidence  and 
jest.  He  ordered  his  quail  broiled,  and  his 
companions,  out  of  compliment,  ordered  the 
same  thing.  It  was  a  breakfast  enjoyed  by 
all.  Here  follows  a  summary  of  what  happened 
on  succeeding  mornings : 

Breakfast  Second. — Graham  came  in,  stiil 
confident,  and  had  a  good  appetite,  as  appeared 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  237 

when  he  ordered  broiled  quail  again  and  ate  it 
with  much  gusto.  Of  the  five  men  at  table  two 
ate  quail  as  well;  the  others  ordered  beefsteak. 

Breakfast  Third. — Graham's  serenity  was  still 
unruffled.  He  ate  his  quail  broiled,  as  usual, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  but  he  noticed  that 
none  of  his  friends  took  quail.  "I  must  have 
variety,"  said  one  of  them. 

Breakfast  Fourth.  Graham  said  he  must 
have  indulged  in  too  much  champagne  the 
night  before.  He  ordered  his  quail  roasted 
for  a  change,  and  ate  it  slowly — the  committee 
of  three  watching  him  like  hawks,  to  see  that 
he  picked  the  bones  clean. 

Breakfast  Fifth. — The  events  of  the  meal 
were  almost  identical  with  those  of  the  day 
before,  save  that  Graham  required  a  little  more 
time  in  which  to  consume  his  bird* 

Breakfast  Sixth. — Graham  declared  that,  after 
all,  we  were  behind  the  English  hi  our  manner 
of  cooking  birds.  They  boiled  two  fowls  to  our 
one.  He  ordered  his  quail  boiled  and  picked 
away  at  it  with  some  energy.  He  certainly 
cleaned  the  bones  with  more  ease  than  before. 

Breakfast  Seventh. — Graham  came  in,  look- 
ing bilious.  He  hesitated  before  ordering,  but 
finally  decided  that  he  would  take  his  quail 


238  THE  CASSOWARY 

chopped  up  into  stew.  There  was  some  debate 
over  this,  and  the  committee  finally  went  into 
the  restaurant  kitchen,  to  see  that  nothing  got 
away.  The  stew  seemed  to  please  Graham 
and  he  made  numerous  jests  at  the  expense  of 
the  men,  "who,"  he  said,  "had  no  stomachs." 

Breakfast  Eighth.  Graham  ordered  quail 
stew  again,  but  did  not  get  along  so  well  as  he 
had  on  the  previous  morning.  He  declared 
the  bird  to  be  stale  and  said  that  it  smelled 
"quailly."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  a  plump 
young  bird,  shot  only  the  day  before. 

Breakfast  Ninth. — To  the  astonishment  of 
everybody,  Graham,  who  looked  more  bilious 
than  ever,  ordered  quail  hash.  The  committee 
was  indignant,  but  there  was  no  recourse,  and 
so  they  were  compelled  to  visit  the  kitchen 
again  and  watch  the  career  of  the  quail  from 
plucking  to  plate.  Graham  became  furious. 
He  said  it  was  a  shame  to  doubt  the  honesty 
of  the  establishment.  He  ate  the  quail. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  continue  in  detail  the 
story  of  the  breakfasts  in  the  great  restaurant. 
Each  day  Graham  became  more  petulant  and 
unreasonable.  All  ways  of  cooking  quail  were 
at  last  exhausted,  and  there  was  a  compelled 
return  to  some  of  those  already  employed. 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  239 

Graham  by  the  fifteenth  day  had  become  hag- 
gard and  the  very  odor  of  the  delicate  bird, 
as  it  came  in,  brought  to  him  a  feeling  of  utmost 
nausea.  He  was  brusque  with  the  faithful 
waiter,  and  took  no  interest  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  his  friends.  He  was  plucky,  though, 
and  managed,  by  sheer  force  of  will,  to  consume 
the  distasteful  ration.  Meanwhile,  the  wager 
had  become  the  comment  of  the  town,  especially 
among  the  wealthy  youth,  and  thousands  of 
dollars  were  staked  upon  the  issue.  The  res- 
taurant was  thronged  each  morning,  and  the 
proprietor  wished  he  had  some  such  attraction 
to  such  a  class  throughout  all  the  rotund  year. 
This  notoriety  but  made  the  case  of  poor  Graham 
worse;  it  made  him  more  anxious  to  succeed, 
but  it  unnerved  him. 

On  the  twentieth  day  the  odds,  which  had 
at  first  been  in  favor  of  Graham,  dropped  to 
no  odds  at  all,  and  on  the  twenty-second  they 
were  against  him.  He  came  in  with  a  pallid 
look  upon  his  face  and  sat  down  before  his  dainty 
fare.  He  took  up  his  knife  and  fork;  then 
suddenly  laid  them  down  and  left  the  place. 
Within  ten  minutes  he  returned  with  a  set  face 
and  resolutely  performed  his  task.  Where  he 
had  been  was  not  known  at  the  time,  but  it  was 


240  THE  CASSOWARY 

rumored,  later,  in  the  Southern  Hotel  (which 
was  in  the  same  block)  that  there  had  been  sold 
a  half-pint  bottle  of  champagne  that  morning 
to  a  gentleman  in  a  hurry. 

So,  worse  and  worse  became  the  man's  con- 
dition, greater  and  greater  his  abhorrence  of 
what  is  counted  a  delicate  bit  of  eating.  On  the 
twenty-sixth  morning  he  came  in  with  a  more 
closely  hovering  look  of  apprehension  than  had 
yet  been  noticed.  He  sat  down  before  the  bird, 
picked  at  it  for  a  moment,  rose  from  the  table 
walked  about  for  a  while;  then  came  back, 
again  and  again,  and  considered  what  was 
before  him.  He  gasped,  and,  as  he  arose  to 
his  feet  and  started  from  the  room,  exclaimed 
huskily:  "It's  no  use,  boys.  I  was  mistaken. 
I  can't  do  it.  I  give  up !" 

There  was  pity  for  him,  especially  among  the 
minors,  for  he  had  done  his  best.  Many 
cheques  were  drawn  that  morning. 

Driscoll  always  breakfasted  at  this  restaurant 
and  had,  naturally,  become  interested  in  this 
droll  struggle  between  man  and  quail.  For 
a  day  or  two  after  his  own  loss  he  had  been 
dazed  and  discouraged  haunting  the  lobbies 
of  the  Planter's,  the  Southern  or  the  Lindell, 
and  pitying  himself  amazingly.  All  at  once 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  241 

he  braced  up,  to  an  extent,  through  the  influence 
of  plucky  little  Jessie  Cameron.  "We  must 
begin  again — that's  all,"  said  she,  resolutely 
and  cheerily.  "Surely,  you  love  me  as  much 
as  Jacob,  who  served  twice  seven  years,  for 
Rachel,  and  I  admire  you  more  than  I  do  Jacob 
— though  I  never  liked  his  device  concerning 
Esau.  Begin  again,  dear,  and  all  will  come 
right." 

And  Driscoll  did  begin  again  with  a  vigor, 
though  henceforth  he  referred  to  Mr.  Cameron 
as  Laban  to  the  indignation  of  the  fair  and 
filial  Jessie. 

The  lover  settled  down  to  earnest  work,  did 
well  and  was  becoming  contented  and  hopeful. 
This  condition  of  mind  enabled  him  to  speculate 
in  his  hours  of  ease  upon  something  outside 
of  his  personal  affairs.  The  quail-eating  con- 
test had  interested  him,  because  he  was  an 
educated  man,  and  something  of  a  student  of 
the  body.  Why  had  Graham  failed  in  the 
eating  of  thirty  quail  in  thirty  days?  Men  eat 
thirty  breakfasts  in  thirty  days  and  do  not 
know  they  have  done  it.  Hunters  and  miners 
eat  bacon  alone — that  is,  as  far  as  their  meat 
goes — for  months  at  a  time  and  think  nothing 
of  it.  Why  had  Graham  failed? 


242  THE  CASSOWARY 

Just  as  a  matter  of  amusement,  Driscoll  tried 
to  study  the  thing  out:  "Man  is  omnivorous," 
he  thought;  "not  a  flesh-eater  alone,  and  his 
range  of  consumption  is  wide.  He  must  have 
variety,  even  in  flesh,  as  a  requirement  of  his 
stomach.  Furthermore,  man  alone,  among  all 
creatures,  is  imaginative,  and,  when  forced 
to  eat  a  certain  thing,  develops  a  thousand 
fancies  against  it  until  it  becomes  revolting. 
It  might  be  so,  very  likely  would  be  so,  in  the 
case  of  the  beefsteak  or  the  bacon.  The  only 
animal  which  can  live  easily  and  uncomplain- 
ingly upon  one  kind  of  flesh  alone,  live  cheer- 
fully and  healthfully,  like  the  lion  or  the  tiger 
or  others  of  the  carnivora,  must  be  one  ac- 
customed to  such  purely  flesh  diet  and  one 
without  imagination."  And  Driscoll  was  right 
in  his  conclusions. 

There  existed  at  this  time  on  Fourth  Street, 
near  Walnut,  a  dime  museum  of  the  better  sort. 
Among  the  attractions  for  the  season  were  five 
Zulus  from  Barnum's  Circus — Zulus,  most  grace- 
ful of  all  savages,  with  their  incurved  backs, 
broad  chests,  and  the  step  of  him  of  Kipling, 
who 

"Trod  the  ling 
Like  a  buck  in  spring." 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  243 

and  who,  daily,  for  the  edification  of  the  popu- 
lace, gave  a  great  exhibition  of  the  throwing 
of  the  assegai.  One  of  them  was  a  woman  and 
she  could  speak  English. 

"A  human  being  accustomed  to  a  flesh  diet 
and  without  imagination  wouldn't  he  be  a 
wonder  to  these  joyous  bettors?"  thought 
Driscoll.  Then  he  almost  gasped  as  he  leaned 
back.  He  had  dropped  into  the  dime  museum 
on  Fourth  Street  that  morning,  having  business 
with  the  proprietor,  and  had  noted  the  per- 
formance of  the  Zulus  admiringly.  "A  human 
being  living  on  flesh  exclusively  and  without 
imagination  almost  concerning  food."  Here 
were  a  group,  all  of  whom  had  throughout  their 
lives,  until  imported,  lived,  practically,  upon 
flesh  alone — the  half -cooked  flesh  of  the  herds. 
Flesh  alone  was  what  their  stomachs  craved. 
Additionally,  they  had  no  imagination  concern- 
ing food — no  morbid  fancies.  They  only  wanted 
meat  and  plenty  of  it — and  the  rest  be  hanged ! 
Driscoll  saw  it  all.  He  thought  for  an  hour 
and  then  there  came  upon  his  face  the  look  of 
a  man  who  is  going  to  break  a  jam  of  pine  logs 
in  some  Northern  river  or  drown  beneath  the 
timber.  He  called  at  the  dime  museum. 


244  THE  CASSOWARY 

"Gregory,"  said  he,  "I  want  to  borrow  your 
best  Zulu." 

"Borrow  what?"  said  Gregory. 

"A  Zulu." 

"What  do  you  mean?    Tell  me  about  it." 

"I'll  explain.  You  know  all  about  the  quail- 
eating  contest,  where  Graham  failed.  You've 
got  a  man  who  won't  fail."  Then  he  explained 
all  he  had  thought  out.  The  museum  proprietor 
— acute  man — became  excited:  "I'll  do  any- 
thing you  say,"  he  promised. 

The  next  morning,  Driscoll  was  breakfasting 
as  usual  in  the  swell  restaurant  with  the  usual 
group — Graham,  somewhat  recovered,  among 
them.  They  were  still  talking  of  the  recent 
eating  exploit,  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  debate, 
Driscoll  spoke,  calmly:  "I'll  wager  that  I  can 
produce  a  man  who  can  eat  thirty  quail  in 
thirty  days.  The  committee  who  served  in 
Graham's  case  shall  serve  in  this.  The  only 
thing  that  I  ask  is  that  the  eating  be  done  upon 
the  stage  in  the  dime  museum  near  the  corner 
of  Fourth  and  Walnut  Streets,  and  just  after 
we  have  had  breakfast  here  each  morning.  I'll 
provide  tickets  for  all  those  directly  interested 
in  the  result." 

There  arose  a  clamor.     Not  a  man  among 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  245 

all  the  gilded  young  men  present  believed  now 
that  any  man  could  eat  thirty  quail  in  thirty 
days.  Driscoll  had  deliberated  and  had  dared. 
He  had  brought  with  him  two  thousand  dollars 
of  his  remaining  fortune.  He  got  odds  at  first 
of  four  to  one;  then  three  to  one;  then  two  to 
one.  He  stood  to  lose  two  thousand  dollars, 
or  win  between  five  and  six  thousand. 

There  was  among  the  Zulus  a  stalwart  young 
man  whose  assegai  sank  deepest  into  the  wooden 
target,  who  was  a  model  of  strength  and  wild, 
unknowing  lustiness,  and  who  had  but  lately 
left  his  tribe  in  Southern  Africa.  Little  but 
flesh  had  ever  passed  his  mouth  as  food.  He 
was  told,  through  the  English-speaking  woman, 
that  there  was  a  little  bird — the  sweetest  in 
the  country — one  of  which  wTould  be  given  him 
each  morning  because  he  had  thrown  the 
assegai  so  well  for  the  white  man's  edification. 
He  smacked  his  lips,  strutted  and  became 
excited. 

Next  morning  occurred  a  scene  heretofore 
unknown  to  the  dime  museum.  In  the  front 
seats  was  the  cream  of  society,  so  far  as  young 
men  were  concerned,  and  all  the  other  seats 
were  filled,  because  the  wise  proprietor  of  the 
place  had  seen  to  it  that  news  so  important  had 


246  THE  CASSOWARY 

gone  abroad.  No  theatre  in  all  the  town  drew 
such  a  fashionable  audience  as  did  this  dime 
museum.  It  was  a  scene  most  edifying  and 
altogether  blithesome  and  lighthearted,  and 
one  having  a  special  interest. 

There  was  not  much  of  a  pause.  The  Zulu, 
accompanied  by  the  committee,  came  upon 
the  stage — the  gentleman  from  South  Africa 
with  glittering  eyes  and  a  look  of  hungry 
expectancy  upon  his  face.  Then,  a  moment 
later,  came  in  a  waiter  with  a  quail — roasted 
whole  and  temptingly  displayed  upon  a  tray. 
The  Zulu  gazed  at  it  for  a  minute;  then  sud- 
denly picked  it  up  by  the  legs;  thrust  the  head 
and  breast  of  the  bird  into  his  mouth  and 
crunched  savagely.  He  was  delighted.  A  mo- 
ment later,  he  tossed  the  legs  away  and  looked 
for  more.  He  had  simply  chewed  the  bird  and 
swallowed  bones  and  all ! 

And  so,  each  day,  for  twenty-nine  days  the 
absurd  performance  was  repeated.  It  was 
quite  unnecessary  to  change  the  style  of  cooking, 
though  the  breast  bones  were  removed  by 
order  of  the  committee,  out  of  a  probably  un- 
necessary regard  for  the  digestion  of  this  human 
personage  brought  up  on  meat  half  raw.  He 
but  clamored  for  more  on  each  occasion  and 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  247 

was  pacified  only  through  the  intervention  of 
the  woman  who  promised  that  soon  he  was 
to  have  a  feast.  She  was  telling  him  the  truth. 
Driscoll  and  Gregory  had  arranged  upon  a 
spectacular  termination  of  the  contest — a  con- 
test which  already,  as  everybody  saw,  was 
determined  as  to  its  issue.  Through  the  inter- 
preter, the  Zulu  was  informed  that  on  the 
thirtieth  day  he  was  to  have,  not  only  the  quail, 
but  a  large  bird — one  worthy  the  appetite  of  a 
warrior — a  bird  known  in  this  strange  country 
as  turkey  and  very  good  to  eat.  The  strong 
thrower  of  the  assegai  could  hardly  restrain 
himself.  He  was  to  have  a  feast  at  last! 

The  thirtieth  morning  came,  and  the  quail 
disappeared  as  usual.  Then,  in  a  stately  pro- 
cession, came  waiters — the  first  bearing  a 
huge  roast  turkey.  Behind  him  came  others 
with  the  American  accompaniments  to  the 
roast  turkey,  and  all  was  set  before  the  Zulu. 
There  followed  a  sight  worth  seeing.  The  tur- 
key was  utterly  demolished;  the  contents  of 
the  side  dishes  were  consumed  and  the  dishes 
themselves  licked  to  a  housewifely  cleanness. 
For  the  first  time  in  thirty  days  the  Zulu  gave  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction.  When  all  accounts  were 
settled,  the  fortune  of  John  Driscoll  amounted 


248  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  just  twenty-two  thousand  one  hundred  and 
eighty  dollars  and  twenty-seven  cents. 

And  so  ended  the  second  of  the  great  quail- 
eating  contests  in  St.  Louis.  Perhaps  it  was 
wrong,  perhaps  Driscoll  shouldn't  have  won 
his  money  in  the  way  he  did;  but  in  St.  Louis 
there  remains,  as  said  in  the  beginning,  much  of 
the  venturesome  but  always  clean  and  honorable 
sporting  spirit  of  the  South,  and  in  this  case 
nobody  was  hurt,  to  speak  of.  They  could 
afford  it,  and  all,  winners  and  losers,  had 
enjoyed  themselves. 

But  facing  Driscoll  were  still  two  appalling 
situations.  There  were  Jessie  and  Mr.  Cameron. 
Here  the  young  man  conducted  himself  with 
a  diplomacy  which  was  vastly  to  his  credit.  He 
went  to  Jessie,  threw  himself  on  her  mercy  and 
confessed  all  in  detail — confessed  everything. 
She  was  confused  and  maybe  shocked;  but  a 
woman  in  love  is  kindly,  and  a  woman  in  love 
with  a  man  of  force  wants  to  become  his  wife. 

"How  will  you  explain  to  Father?"  said  the 
thoughtful  maiden. 

"I'll  arrange  it,  somehow,"  said  the  now 
confident  and  buoyant  Driscoll. 

He  visited  Mr.  Cameron  and  gave  satis- 
factory proof  to  the  old  gentleman  that  he  was 


LOVE  AND  A  ZULU  249 

now  the  possessor  of  over  twenty  thousand 
dollars. 

"But  how  did  you  gain  the  money  so  soon, 
boy?"  said  Mr.  Cameron.  "I  heard  that  you 
lost  a  thousand  or  two." 

Driscoll's  face  sobered.  "I  should  think  that 
no  one  better  than  you,  Mr.  Cameron,  would 
understand  the  necessity  on  the  part  of  a  busi- 
ness man  of  keeping  secret  his  methods  and  the 
relations  of  his  business  affairs.  Pardon  me — 
I  am  not  yet  your  son-in-law." 

"Right  you  are,  Driscoll!"  was  the  immediate 
response.  "You're  a  business  man,  after  all!" 

It  was  not  long  before  Driscoll  became  the 
son-in-law  in  fact.  Then  he  told  the  whole 
story  to  his  father-in-law. 

"Hum!  ha!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  mus- 
ingly, 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  BAY  SOFTLY 

Stafford  had  at  frequent  intervals  during 
the  day  been  hi  communication  with  the  re- 
lief train  and  had  received  neither  encourage- 
ment nor  the  opposite.  There  had  been  a  sharp 
questioning  of  a  new  man  in  charge,  a  person 
who  seemed  to  know  his  business  thoroughly, 
but  who  was  far  from  voluble  in  conversation. 
Evidently  the  emergency  had  been  thought 
such  as  to  require  the  presence  of  someone  of 
greater  versatility  than  was  likely  to  be  possessed 
by  the  train  crew,  but  from  this  new  overseer 
the  questioner  received  but  little  satisfaction. 
In  fact  the  boss  had  seemed  not  altogether  open 
and  candid  hi  his  statements  and  Stafford  had 
become  a  trifle  irritated.  He  put  the  case 
lightly,  for  the  man  to  whom  he  was  talking 
was  evidently  bright: 

"I'm  not  altogether  satisfied  with  your  an- 
swers. We  people  imprisoned  here  have  a  right 
to  know  exactly  what  the  outlook  is.  Why 
don't  you  come  to  me  more  like  a  child  to  its 


260 


AT  BAY  SOFTLY  251 

mother?  We  are  cutting  wood  for  fuel,  and  the 
food  supply  is  getting  low.  What  are  you  doing 
over  there?" 

"Are  you  a  railroad  man?" 

"Well,  I've  seen  a  railroad." 

"You  ought  to  know  what  this  job  is  then. 
It's  a  pretty  tough  one." 

"I  know  it,  but  why  don't  you  answer  my 
questions  more  definitely?  Have  you  anything 
up  your  sleeve?" 

"Possibly;  my  sleeves  are  pretty  big.  This 
I'll  tell  you,  though,  that  I  think  we're  all  right. 
I'd  tell  you  more  if  I  felt  sure  myself.  We're 
going  to  try  something.  That's  all." 

Somehow,  this  elated  Stafford.  He  felt  that 
he  had  been  talking  to  a  man  who  knew  what 
he  was  about  and  he  became  confident  that 
release  was  close  at  hand.  But  was  he  elated, 
after  all?  Release  would  mean  that  there  would 
remain  but  two  more  days  of  Her,  for,  hi  such 
event,  within  two  days  the  train  would  be  in 
Chicago.  He  was  in  a  most  uncertain  mood. 

He  was  restless  and  unreasonable.  Why  to 
him  should  come  such  perplexity  in  life,  such 
trial  to  one  who  had  banished  himself  to  avoid 
temptation?  Yet,  here  it  was,  thrust  in  his  way 
again,  and  he  must  be  once  more  a  Tantalus. 


252  THE  CASSOWARY 

He  became  mightily  impatient  as  he  brooded 
and  wished  that  he  had  Fate  where  he  could 
punish  her.  Just  what  he  would  do  with  that 
lady  in  such  contingency  he  hardly  knew. 
He  got  to  speculating  upon  that  and  had  all 
sorts  of  fancies.  He  conceived  the  grotesque 
idea  that  the  ducking-stool  would  be  about 
the  thing.  The  association  of  Fate  with  the 
ducking-stool  seemed  somewhat  incongruous, 
it  is  true,  something  in  the  way  of  an  anach- 
ronism, it  was  such  a  far  cry  from  Homer  to 
New  England,  but  that  didn't  matter.  She 
certainly  deserved  the  ducking-stool, — and  then 
he  could  not  but  laugh  at  himself  and  his 
vexed  fancies.  It  was  a  trait  of  Stafford  that, 
whatever  the  situation,  he  was  certain  in  turn- 
ing it  over  in  his  mind,  to  give  it  some  fan- 
tastic sidelight,  which  diverted  his  attention, 
and  that  generally  relieved  him.  The  idea  of 
having  Fate  in  the  ducking-stool  appealed  to 
him  just  now  and  smoothed  his  mood.  How 
would  that  arbitrary  lady,  she  who  had  had 
her  own  way  with  the  world  so  long,  conduct 
herself  under  such  trying  circumstances,  for 
trying  he  inferred  they  were,  from  old  prints 
which  he  had  studied  with  great  interest  in 
his  childhood.  He  imagined  the  way  in  which 


AT  BAY  SOFTLY  253 

her  long  hair  would  float  out  upon  the  water 
as  the  shore  end  of  the  board  went  up  and  she, 
in  the  chair  at  the  other  end,  went  down  and 
under  water,  and,  in  imagination,  he  could  hear 
her  gasp  a  little,  stubborn  as  she  is  reputed 
to  be.  How  would  she  behave  and  comport 
herself  after  the  third  or  fourth  dip?  Would 
she  prove  amenable  and,  when  she  had  got  her 
breath,  pledge  herself  to  be  henceforth  and 
for  all  time  a  little  more  considerate  of  the 
comfort  of  humanity?  For  lovers  especially 
would  she  exhibit  a  more  kindly  and  under- 
standing regard?  If  not,  why,  then,  under 
she  must  go  again! 

So  he  ambled  on  foolishly  and  to  his  own 
relief.  An  admirable  thing  for  Stafford  was  it 
that  these  whimsies  so  often  seized  upon  him, 
equally  when  he  was  enraged  or  distressed, 
it  didn't  matter  which.  They  helped  to  tide 
him  over  the  mental  emergency.  Happy  the 
man  who  has  such  an  odd  streak  in  the  com- 
position of  his  under-nature. 

"Still,"  Stafford  laughed  to  himself,  "I  am 
an  abused  man.  I  am  a  victim  of  atrocious 
circumstances.  I'm  an  injured  being,  and  I'm 
at  bay!  I'm  going  to  turn  and  make  the 
best  of  it  savagely.  I'll  have,  at  least,  the 


254  THE  CASSOWARY 

comfort  of  looking  into  a  pair  of  eyes  and  list- 
ening to  a  voice.     I'll  go  and  talk  to  Her." 

And  he  went  into  the  next  car  and  seated 
himself  beside*  the  Far  Away  Lady,  who  re- 
ceived him  kindly.  He  resolved  to  indulge 
himself  in  her  companionship  for  a  time,  though 
against  his  better  judgment.  He  knew  that  he 
was  but  making  his  trial  the  harder  to  bear. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  the  first 
greeting,  "that  I  wish  I  could  sing?" 

"And  why  do  you  wish  that?"  she  queried. 

"Because,  if  I  could,  I  would  get  off  the 
train  and  wade  through  the  snow  away  out  to 
that  clump  of  evergreens  you  see  there  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  up  the  slope — which  would 
be  out  of  hearing  from  here — and  I  would  get 
behind  the  evergreens,  out  of  sight,  and  sing 
something  dolorous." 

"Why  would  you  do  that?" 

"I  hardly  know  myself.  I  suppose  it  would 
be  something  in  the  mood  and  the  way  of  the 
old  troubadours,  who,  when  things  went  wrong, 
murmurered  'Alack'  and  sought  the  silent  places 
and  engaged  in  dismal  vocalism." 

"But  don't  you  think  it  was  rather  foolish 
of  them?"  ventured  the  Far  Away  Lady. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.    It  must  have  been 


AT  BAY  SOFTLY  255 

a  sort  of  relief.  Groaning  is  a  great  relief  when 
you  are  hurt.  I  noticed  that  particularly 
among  my  workmen  in  Siberia,  whenever  one 
of  them  had  been  injured  in  an  accident.  Very 
fine  groaners  they  were,  too." 

"But  what  nonsense  you  are  talking" — 
there  was  a  note  of  more  than  anxiety  in  her 
voice — "has  something  happened?  Tell  me, 
John.  Has  anything  occurred  to-day  to  dis- 
turb you?" 

"Nothing,  madam,  nothing  at  all.  Do  you 
know  what  is  meant  by  'cumulative  repres- 
sion V  Well  I'm  suffering  from  'cumulative 
repression/  That's  all.  There  are  different 
kinds  of  the  disease  and  mine  is  of  the  sort  for 
which  there  is  nothing  one  can  take." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  John." 

"No?  Well,  I  don't  seem  to  make  myself 
very  clear,  it  is  true.  I  didn't  explain  'cumula- 
tive' as  thoroughly  as  I  might  have  done.  It's 
this  way :  Suppose  you  were  compelled  to  take 
some  drug  the  effect  of  which  is  known  as 
'cumulative.'  The  first  dose  would  have  little 
effect,  and  so  on,  up  to  a  certain  time.  Then 
something  would  happen,  and  that  something 
would  be  a  result  just  the  same  as  if  you  had 
taken  all  the  doses  at  once — mighty  serious, 


256  THE  CASSOWARY 

possibly.  In  my  case  I  don't,  as  yet,  know 
just  how  serious  the  effect  is.  I  think — at 
least  I  hope — that  I  will  recover.  I  seem  to 
feel  it  wearing  off  a  shade,  but  I'm  not  quite 
sure.  The  consequences  of  'cumulative  repres- 
sion' are  sometimes  most  serious.  Insanity 
has  been  known  to  come.  But,  as  for  me, 
'I  am  not  mad,  I  am  not  mad/  I'm  only  a 
little — I'm  only  wandering  hi  my  mind." 

Then,  all  at  once,  his  mood  changed  to  some- 
thing absolutely  earnest  and  his  look  was 
pitifully  appealing  as  he  leaned  toward  her: 

"Oh,  Lady  Leech,  can  you  do  nothing  for  me?" 

She  did  not  answer  him.  She  understood. 
She  knew,  as  well  as  if  he  had  told  her  in  simpler 
words,  that  he  had  almost  failed  in  his  high 
resolve  and  that  he  had  come  to  her,  feverish, 
in  a  half  madness,  to  be  upheld  and  strength- 
ened, or  otherwise  to  be  dealt  with,  as  she 
would.  She  realized  it  all,  and  thought  silently, 
struggling  with  herself  as  he  might  never  know. 
But  the  good,  both  for  his  sake  and  hers,  was 
strong  within  her  and  finally  came  her  soft 
reply: 

"You  know,  John,  that  I  would  help  you  if 
I  could,  but  you  know  that  I  cannot,  that  I 
must  not,  even  a  little." 


AT  BAY  SOFTLY  257 

Her's  was  a  great  sympathy,  yet,  in  the  midst 
of  it  all,  there  was  something  she  could  not 
understand.  She  had  heard  that  of  him,  from 
China,  which  made  this  scene  incomprehensible. 
She  knew  that  there  was  not  a  trace  of  acting, 
that  there  was  no  craft  nor  design  about  him, 
and  she  was  but  lost  in  a  maze  of  troubled 
doubt.  There  was  her  own  heart.  An  over- 
whelming pity  overcame  her,  but  she  could 
not  express  it. 

He  sat  looking  at  her,  silent,  sad,  studying. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  returned  to  earth  again; 
his  face  lightened: 

"What  nonsense  I've  been  talking  to  you! 
I  will  go  into  the  other  car  and  encourage  the 
Colonel  in  the  arena,"  and  so  he  left  her. 

But  there  was  a  mist  in  her  eyes  as  he  went 
out.  How  he  had  reminded  her  of  the  Stafford 
of  old,  in  the  days  when  they  were  careless! 


CHAPTER  XX 

LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY 

The  Colonel  was  royally  in  his  element  now. 
On  no  occasion  before  during  all  the  time  of  de- 
tention had  he  played  with  so  free  a  hand  or 
felt  himself  so  much  an  element  of  good  among 
his  fellow  creatures.  The  psychological  hour 
had  come  for  him. 

"We  should  congratulate  ourselves,"  he  res- 
onantly declared.  "Where  else  or  under  what 
other  circumstances  could  have  been  acciden- 
tally assembled  such  a  number  of  people  so  qual- 
ified to  minister  mentally  to  each  other  and 
make  otherwise  dead  hours  breathe  as  we  who 
are  here  now  looking  into  each  other's  eyes?" 
Then,  very  properly,  feeling  that  he  had  ex- 
pressed himself  rather  finely,  he  continued, 
"We  will  not  waste  the  shining  hour.  We  must 
have  other  stories.  Mr.  Showman,  have  you 
anything  to  say?" 

Had  the  Colonel  not  known  very  well  what 
he  was  about  his  last  sentence  would  have  been 
as  tactless  as  it  seemed  to  everybody  cruel, 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY  259 

and  even  his  trusting  and  admiring  wife  looked 
upon  him  in  a  startled  way  as  he  thus  addressed 
himself  to  an  exceedingly  florid  man  in  some- 
what florid  garb,  but  with,  nevertheless,  an  air 
of  intelligence  of  the  better  sort  and  one  of 
general  understanding.  He  had  been  a  not  in- 
frequent visitor  and  had  listened  quietly  and 
with  evident  delight  to  what  he  had  heard.  The 
Colonel  had  not  offended  him  in  the  least  by 
the  blunt  application  of  the  word  "showman." 
The  two  knew  each  other  and,  besides,  the  title 
belonged  to  him  properly  and  he  was  not  at  all 
ashamed  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  rather 
proud  of  it.  He  looked  at  the  Colonel  in  a  med- 
itative way  and  took  his  time.  He  had  faced 
audiences — though,  perhaps,  none  quite  so  se- 
lect, before — and  finally  remarked,  very  simply 
and  to  the  admiration  of  everybody: 

"You  can't  expect  much  of  a  plain,  unedu- 
cated showman,  but  I  know  of  one  story,  a  sort 
of  love  story,  too,  which  a  friend  of  mine  who 
owns  a  dime  museum  told  me.  I'm  in  the  circus 
business  myself,  so  do  not  know  as  much  about 
what  you  might  call  family  details  as  he  would, 
but  this  is  what  he  gave  me.  He  was  tickled  and 
used  some  large  words :" 


260  THE  CASSOWARY 

LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY 

The  Ossified  Man  was  in  love  with  the  Fat 
Woman.  Such  things  happen.  Men  are  falling  in 
love  with  women  every  day  and  apparent  ab- 
surdities and  incongruities  do  not  count.  Love 
asks  no  odds.  The  Ossified  Man  was  in  love 
with  the  Fat  Lady.  She  weighed  six  hundred 
and  eighty-three  pounds ;  he  weighed  just  eighty 
three.  It  may  have  been  that  this  singular  coin- 
cidence, as  shown  on  the  billboards  throughout 
the  city,  first  drew  the  two  together.  Who  can 
tell?  They  became  acquainted  and  then  began 
one  of  the  love  affairs  of  the  thousand  myriads, 
with  which  the  world  is  at  all  times  occupied. 

The  Fat  Lady  was  fair  to  look  upon.  She  had 
the  tremendous  advantage  of  being  a  landscape 
as  well  as  a  personality.  She  was,  somehow, 
healthy,  and  her  far-outstanding  flesh  was  firm 
and  white,  despite  her  mountainous  proportions. 
She  rose  and  fell  rythmatically  as  a  mass  with 
each  inhalation  of  her  fortunately  great  lungs 
and  reminded  one,  in  a  way,  of  a  volcano  half 
quiescent.  This,  though,  would  be  an  utterly 
wrong  simile.  There  was  nothing  fiery  about  her. 
Her  round  face  showed  but  a  somewhat  intensi- 
fied benevolence.  Upon  second  thought — be- 
cause she  had  what  she  deemed  taste  in  dress  and 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY  261 

wore  a  variety  of  outside  ribbon  things  upon  her 
looming  corsage  and  vast  flowers  upon  her  hat — 
she  reminded  one,  billowy  and  heaving  and  with 
green  and  flowery  things  atop  her,  of  the  ever 
soft  and  rolling  and  lifting  Sargossa  Sea.  She 
was  a  good  girl  in  her  way  and  had  come  from 
Indiana. 

The  Ossified  man  was  nearly  six  feet  in  height, 
was  one  of  the  best  known  specimens  in  the  show 
world  of  what  may  be  called  an  animated  stal- 
actite and  could  scarcely  be  called  ungraceful 
though  a  slightly  too  robust  skeleton.  His  joints 
were  singularly  flexible  yet  and  his  digestion  and 
his  mind  were  active.  "Stone  walls  do  not  a 
prison  make,  nor  iron  bars  a  cage."  Thus  he 
explained  the  quality  of  the  personality  of  the 
two. 

The  wooing  of  the  Ossified  Man  was  in  the 
nature  of  an  innovation.  He  recognized  the  atti- 
tude in  the  community  occupied  by  his  inamo- 
rata and  himself,  not  merely  toward  each  other 
but  with  relation  to  all  the  outside  world,  and 
he  conducted  himself  accordingly. 

What  the  Ossified  Man  did — and  it  is  great- 
ly to  his  credit — was  to  do  what  any  other  man 
of  his  grade  would  do.  Neither  he  nor  the  Fat 
"Woman  were  highly  educated  but  each  had  been 


262  THE  CASSOWARY 

through  a  school  and  each  had  read  and  could 
understand  things  and  each  had  intelligence  and 
no  little  sentiment.  As  remarked,  the  Ossified 
Man  made  his  advances  as  would  any  other  man 
of  his  degree.  The  two  came  to  understand  each 
other  in  a  way  and  the  Fat  Woman  began  to 
feel  somewhere,  far  away  in  her  system,  some- 
thing she  had  never  felt  before.  In  truth  she 
was  beginning  to  fall  in  love  with  the  Ossified 
Man.  Not  being  a  fool,  the  Ossified  Man  knew 
it.  He  realized  the  fact  that  he  had  found 
another  being  of  the  other  sex,  of  good  sense, 
though  out  of  the  common  in  appearance,  as 
sentimental  as  he,  the  great  heart  once  f airly 
stirred.  Affairs  drifted.  He  knew  that  he  was 
going  to  propose  to  her  and  she  knew  that  he 
was  going  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  That  re- 
flection, somehow,  startled  her  throughout  all 
her  vast  being,  though  a  dim  sub-consciousness 
told  her  that  she  liked  him  much.  As  for  him,  he 
resolved  to  stake  the  future  upon  a  single  poem 
he  sent  to  her,  confident  that  she  would  accept 
it  gravely.  And  these  are  the  few  lines  she  re- 
ceived : 


263 

"All  flesh  is  grass,  and  grass  must  turn  to  clay; 
All  bones  must  turn  to  dust,  and  we  are  they! 
Since  thus  we  turn,  my  own,  my  Colleen  Bawn, 
Why  not  unite  before  our  breath  is  gone? 
It  is  the  judgment  ever  of  the  sage 
That  happiness  is  in  the  average; 
What  better  equipoise  than  you  and  I, 
What  more  assured?     O,  sweetheart,  let  us  try!" 

The  Fat  Woman  was  impressed  but,  more 
than  that,  and  better  in  ten  thousand  ways,  she 
was  delighted  that  the  man  she  realized  she 
loved  had  finally  dared  to  express  himself, 
though  hi  this  odd,  sentimental  way.  She 
thought  much  and  then — there  is  shade  of  cor- 
rection added — she  wrote  this  letter : 

"Dear  Jim: — I  understand  your  poem.  I  won't  fool  a  bit. 
I  care  for  you,  Jim,  as  you  care  for  me.  But  we  will  be  a  joke  if 
we  get  married  now.  Can't  you  see  that,  Jim?  Can't  we  get 
more  like  each  other  before  we  get  married?  We  have  both  saved 
quite  a  lot  of  money.  Oh,  Jim,  if  you'll  try  to  get  thicker,  I'll 
try  to  get  thinner. 

"Lovingly, 

"SAHAH." 

The  Ossified  Man  read  that  letter  and  went 
out  and  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  for 
hours.  He  was  the  happiest  and  most  perplexed 
man  in  all  the  big  city.  His  heart  at  least  wasn't 
ossified. 

He  remembered  a  professor  who  had  studied 
him  and  whom  he  had  heard  say  to  those  about 
that  there  was  no  occasion  for  the  continued 


264  THE  CASSOWARY 

ossification  in  such  a  subject,  provided  the  stom- 
ach was  all  right.  "I'll  go  to  that  old  professor," 
he  said,  "and  I'll  put  the  case  to  his  giblets  in 
a  way  to  make  him  salty  round  the  eyes.  And 
I'll  write  all  about  it  to  my  little  girl,  God  bless 
'erf1 

So  his  "little  girl"  got  the  letter  and  cried 
largely  and  with  vast  resources  and,  as  we  say, 
"braced  up."  "He  is  good,  my  Jim,"  she  said 
to  herself;  "and  I'll  meet  him  half  way,  God 
bless  him!  I  know  a  professor  too,  and  I'll  see 
him." 

So  each  went  to  a  professor. 

Professor  McFlush  was  the  doctor  whose  por- 
trait accompanied  an  advertisement  regularly  in 
the  Sunday  papers,  and  whom  the  Ossified  Man 
had  in  mind.  He  didn't  hesitate  an  instant  after 
an  examination  of  what  there  was  of  his  patient. 
"I'll  cure  you  in  no  time  if  you  follow  my  direc- 
tions," he  declared.  "My  Sulphuretted  Tablets 
will  knock  out  the  ossification  and  as  for  the 
rest  it's  all  diet." 

"What  diet?"  asked  the  Ossified  Man. 

"Hash!"  roared  the 'doctor.  "Do  you  drink 
much?" 

"Naw,"  said  the  Ossified  Man. 

"Well,  you've  got  to — hash — hash  and  porter. 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY  265 

Hash  is  fattening,  the  potatoes  in  it  does  it. 
Porter  is  fattening,  the  malt  in  it  does  it.  Them 
and  my  tablets  together  will  do  the  business — 
seventeen  tablets  a  day — dollar  a  bottle,  thirty- 
four  in  a  bottle.  Five  tablets  before  breakfast, 
and  for  breakfast  hash  and  two  bottles  of  porter. 
Dinner  the  same;  supper  the  same.  Anything 
else  you  want  eat  or  drink  all  day  long.  Last 
two  tablets  just  before  you  go  to  bed.  Get  your 
prescriptions  filled  here.  Get  your  porter  over 
at  Johnson's  wholesale  grocery,  Fve  made  an 
arrangement  with  him.  Ten  dollars.  Report 
weekly.  Good  day." 

And  the  Ossified  Man  took  up  his  task  for 
Love's  sake. 

It  was  to  Professor  Slocum  that  the  Fat  Wom- 
an went.  Professor  Slocum  was  brisk  and 
small  but  he  had  a  way  with  the  ladies. 

The  Fat  Woman  believed  in  him  implicitly 
from  the  moment  they  met. 

"Do  you  eat  much?"  was  the  first  query  of 
the  Professor. 

"Yes  sir,  considerable." 

"Do  you  drink  much?" 

"Yes  sir,  some  ale,  and  water  most  all  the 
time." 

"Madam,  I  am  astonished!     Keep  on  with 


266  THE  CASSOWARY 

that  diet  and  you'll  weigh  half  a  ton  before  you 
die,  and  you'll  die  within  six  months." 

The  Fat  Woman  gasped  and  turned  pallid. 
She  was  influenced  not  only  by  love  but  by 
acute  alarm. 

The  Professor  looked  upon  her  benignly. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  can  save  you.  My  con- 
densed Food  Tablets  and  my  Spirituelle  Waters 
will  do  the  business.  The  tablets  will  afford  you 
sufficient  sustenance  for  existence  without  af- 
fording any  element  for  the  increase  of  adipose 
tissue,  while  my  Spirituelle  Waters  will  gratify 
your  thirst — the  more  you  drink  of  them  the 
better — while,  at  the  same  time,  they  will  exer- 
cise an  influence  of  their  own.  Get  your  tablets 
here  at  this  office — fifty  cents  a  hundred — 
Spirituelle  Waters  here  too — quart  bottles, 
twenty-five  cents  a  bottle.  Prescription :  ten  tab- 
lets and  one  bottle  of  the  water  to  a  meal;  an- 
other bottle  of  the  Waters  before  retiring. 
Drink  all  the  Spirituelle  Water  you  want  during 
the  day.  Ten  dollars.  Report  fortnightly.  Good 
afternoon." 

The  professors  knew  their  business.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  of  that.  Not  with  any  sun- 
burst, so  to  speak,  but  steadily  and  day  by  day, 
the  Ossified  Man  increased  hi  flexibility  and 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY  367 

tissue  and  the  Fat  Woman  decreased  in  fat. 

There  came  a  day  when  the  Museum  manager 
observed  the  change  and  sent  for  the  Ossified 
Man. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jim?"  asked  the  poten- 
tate. 

"Nothing  that  I  know  of,"  was  the  answer. 

"Do  you  weigh  any  more  than  you  did,  Jim?" 

"About  twenty-five  pounds,  I  believe,"  was 
the  hesitating  answer. 

"I'll  see  you  in  my  Office  at  two  o'clock  this 
afternoon." 

Then  the  Fat  Woman  was  sent  for  and  ques- 
tioned. 

"How  much  do  you  weigh,  Sarah?"  was  the 
first  query. 

"Six  hundred  and  twenty-three  pounds,  sir," 
was  the  truthful  answer. 

"Huh!"  said  the  manager.  Sixty  pounds 
gone  Sarah !  I'll  see  you  in  my  Office  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

An  hour  later  the  Ossified  Man  and  the  Fat 
Woman  were  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 
After  a  pause  the  Fat  Woman  remarked  thought- 
fully: 

"Jim,  we're  going  to  get  the  g.  b." 

"Looks  that  way,"  said  the  Ossified  Man. 


268  THE  CASSOWARY 

"Do  you  care  much?" 

"Nope,"  said  the  Ossified  Man,  "only  I  wish 
we  each  could  have  gathered  in  our  fifty  per  for 
another  six  months  or  so." 

"Well,  I  don't  care!"  said  the  Fat  Woman, 
lovingly  and  desperately.  "I've  saved  up  about 
six  thousand  and  you've  got  about  five,  and  the 
three  or  so  can  go." 

"Suits  me,"  said  the  Ossified  Man. 

The  meeting  in  the  manager's  office  that  after- 
noon was  spirited  but  good-natured. 

"Heard  you'd  got  stuck  on  each  other  and 
were  trying  to  size  up  together,"  said  the  man- 
ager. 

"About  the  size  of  it,"  said  the  Ossified  Man. 

"Well,  it  strikes  me  that  there  are  two  sizes 
yet,"  said  the  manager,  "but  that  doesn't  mat- 
ter. You  are  knocking  out  two  of  my  attrac- 
tions. I'll  have  to  let  you  both  go  at  the  end 
of  the  week." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Ossified  Man,  good-nat- 
uredly. "But,"  he  added,  as  a  second  thought 
struck  him,  "say,  Sarah  is  going  one  way  and 
I'm  going  the  other  and  there  is  no  telling  how 
far  we  may  happen  to  pass.  It  might  happen 
that  we  might  want  a  job  again.  Now  when 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  THE  WAY  269 

I  come  back  as  the  Fat  Man,  and  she  as  the 
Ossified  Woman,  will  you  take  us  on?" 

The  manager  roared :  "Yes,  when  you  come 
back  weighing  six  hundred  and  eighty-three, 
and  Sarah  eighty-three,  I'll  engage  you,  you 
bet!" 

The  Fat  Woman  listened  approvingly. 

And  now  the  two  are  on  a  fine  farm  in  Ind- 
iana and  are  happy.  She  still  takes  Professor 
Slocum's  Condensed  Food  Tablets  and  Spir- 
ituelle  Waters,  and  he  still  takes  Professor 
McFlush's  Sulphuretted  Tablets  and  porter, 
and  they  are  growing  more  and  more  alike  in 
appearance,  as  they  are  in  thoughts  and  aims, 
and  have  the  best  and  most  comfortable  under- 
standing. But  they'll  never  get  back  to  the 
Museum.  They  wouldn't  if  they  could. 

Isn't  it  wonderful  what  love  can  do! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR 

There  was  laughter,  naturally,  over  the  Show- 
man's absurd,  yet  not  altogether  unsentimental 
story  and,  after  its  recital  he  stood,  undoubtedly, 
more  nearly  on  a  social  footing  with  the  others. 
There  were  his  clothes,  of  course,  and  another 
excrudescence  or  two,  but  these  were  incidentals. 
The  wayfarers  did  not  even  yawn,  but  looked 
uiquiringly  at  the  beaming  and  bestowed-by- 
Providence  Colonel. 

After  all,  it  is  doubtful  if  there  be  any  thing 
better  in  the  world  than  a  spinster — if  she  be  of 
the  right  sort.  Of  course  all  spinsters  are  not 
of  the  right  sort;  few  of  us  are.  When  this 
one  especially  fine  spinster  was  called  upon 
by  the  Colonel  she  did  not  know  exactly  what 
to  do.  She  should  have  been  as  perfectly  at 
ease  and  as  possessed  of  aplomb  as  any  volup- 
tuously beautiful  poser  in  a  ballroom,  yet  she  was 
somewhat  embarrassed.  She  should  not  have 
been.  She  was  an  exquisitely  beautiful  wom- 
an, in  the  view  of  those  who  know  things. 


870 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  271 

With  her  thin  nose  and  thin  lips  and  general 
expression  of  cultivation  and  eyes  in  which 
showed  loving  regard  and  thinking,  she  was 
adorable  to  those  upon  whose  eyes  had  been 
rubbed  the  great  ointment  of  perception.  Her 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  of  ex- 
isting womanhood,  neat  and  good,  was  worth 
far  more  than  its  weight  in  gold  or  any  other 
metal.  When  called  upon  this  is  what  the 
spinster  said  most  bravely: 

"Colonel  Livingstone,  there  is  but  one  untold 
story  of  which  I  know  and  I  wish  I  were  capable 
of  explaining  to  all  of  you  how  full  of  real  life 
it  was.  Yet  it  seems  so  simple  and  silly  that 
it  is  commonplace,  though  it  isn't.  Do  you 
remember,  Colonel,  about  the  great  tower  of 
the  Campanile,  in  Venice  and  the  square  down 
upon  the  pavements  of  which  the  pigeons 
flutter  to  be  fed?  Well  this  is  a  story — a  true 
one — of  something  like  those  same  pigeons  and 
the  Doge  who  first  instituted  the  feeding  of 
them,  five  hundred  years  ago,  or  something 
like  that,  only  the  scene  and  time  are  different. 
As  you  know,  Colonel,  I  live  in  Chicago,  and 
this  is  but  the  story  of  the  pigeons  of  St.  Mark's 
transferred  to  the  corner  of  Clark  and  Madison 


272  THE  CASSOWARY 

streets  in  a  city  in  another  hemisphere.  And, 
as  I  said,  it  is  all  true.  This  is  what  actually 
happened." 

A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR 

This  is  a  love  story  of  two  of  the  class  who 
know  things.  Margaret  Selwyn  was  a  grad- 
uate of  one  of  the  bluest  women's  colleges  be- 
tween the  two  seas,  and,  more  than  that,  she  had 
a  background  of  home  culture  and  refinement, 
having  parents  of  brains.  She  came  from 
college  with  those  acquirements,  which  shine 
exteriorly,  and  had  an  incurved  back,  and  was 
"tailor  made"  from  head  to  heel,  yet  having 
within  her  all  that  gentleness  and  greatness  of 
heart  which  make  a  woman  better  than  any- 
thing else,  not  even  excluding  the  strawberry 
upon  which  the  Right  Reverend  Bishop  pro- 
nounced such  a  sincere  eulogy. 

As  to  the  man,  Henry  Bryant,  he  belonged 
socially  and  in  all  other  ways  to  the  same 
class  as  the  woman,  even  in  brains  and  goodness, 
considering,  of  course,  the  limitations  of  sex. 
Each  of  these  two  occupied  a  social  position — 
if  such  a  thing  as  recognized  social  position  be 
defined  enough  in  the  United  States — distinctly 
understood  by  the  people  who  knew  them. 
Each  was  arrogant  and  self-sustained,  and  each 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  273 

thoroughly  and  admiringly  in  love  with  the 
other.  It  was  wonderful  how  these  two,  each 
accustomed  to  be  obeyed,  and  each,  hi  a  gentle 
way,  unconconsciously  dominant  with  those 
about,  grew  close  and  yielding  together.  Each 
recognized  the  masterfulness,  feminine  or  mas- 
culine, of  the  other,  and  there  came  a  great 
sweetness  to  the  understanding.  Yet  to  these 
two,  well-poised  and  mentally  well-equipped, 
came  gusts  and  showers  of  difference  of  opinion. 
The  man  tried  to  be  dignified  and  self-contained 
upon  these  occasions,  but,  as  a  rule,  failed  mis- 
erably. The  woman  didn't  even  try. 

But  these  differences  throughout  the  months 
of  their  engagement  resulted  in  no  tragedy  of 
importance.  They  both  had  so  much  of  the 
salt  of  humor  in  their  composition  that  they 
recognized  the  folly  of  even  a  momentary  an- 
tagonism, and  each  laughed  and  begged  the 
other's  pardon  or  rendered  the  equivalent  of 
that  performance.  They  smiled  together  over 
their  mutual  short  lapses  of  realization  of  what 
it  is  that  makes  the  world  go  round. 

At  such  times  as  they  quarreled  the  man 
would  tell  her  the  foolish  but  probably  true  story 
of  the  Irishman  who  came  annually  whooping 
into  town  at  fair  time  in  some  old  Irish  village, 


274  THE  CASSOWARY 

whirling  his  shillalah  above  his  head  and  an- 
nouncing to  all  the  world  that  he  was  "blue- 
mouldy  for  want  of  a  batin'."  And,  after  this 
comparison,  Bryant  would  announce,  in  strict- 
est confidence,  to  his  sweetheart,  that  this 
blessed  Irishman  never  failed  to  get  his  "batin'," 
and  that  there  were  "others"  even  unto  this 
day. 

And  so  it  came,  in  time,  that  this  man,  in 
love  with  a  woman,  called  her  his  "blue-mouldy" 
girl,  and  this  came  to  be  the  sweetest  title  in  the 
heart  of  each. 

With  all  the  saving  grace  of  the  sense  of  pro- 
portion, which  is  a  good  part  of  the  sense  of 
humor,  and  with  all  their  love  and  understand- 
ing of  each  other,  with  such  characters  it  was 
inevitable  that  something  must  happen.  There 
are  laws  of  Nature.  Vesuvius  gets  dyspeptic. 
Certain  Javan  islands  spill  up  into  the  sky  and 
the  world  has  red  sunsets  for  a  while.  One  day, 
this  woman,  good  product  of  a  good  race,  sat 
in  her  parlor  awaiting  her  lover.  She  was  reading 
a  book  as  she  waited. 

Now  as  to  certain  facts:  Miss  Selwyn  was  in 
her  literary  tastes  an  Ibsenite,  Hardyite,  James- 
ite,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Bryant  was  a 
Kiplingite  or  Conan  Doyleite.  She  trimmed 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  275 

close  to  something  sere,  and  where  nerves  were. 
He  was  chiefly  in  his  literary  tendencies  "Let 
her  go,  Gallagher!" 

Margaret,  having  become  absorbed  in  her 
book,  looked  up  with  saddened  eyes  from  her 
literary  draft  of  wormwood  and  tea,  with  the 
beginning  of  beautifully  creased  brows,  to  note 
the  entrance  of  some  lusty  flesh  and  blood.  Less 
in  accord  in  mood  and  thought  than  were  these, 
for  the  instant,  never  existed  two  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  earnest  lovers  though  they 
were  and  of  about  the  same  quality  of  thought 
and  being.  Something  had  to  happen. 

"Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  Ladye?"  began 
Bryant,  glancing  at  the  face  of  his  sweetheart, 
and  from  that  to  the  book  she  had  laid  aside.  As 
she  did  not  reply  immediately,  he  continued, 
taking  up  the  volume : 

"Is  it  The  Han't  that  Walks  or  The  Brown- 
ing of  the  Overdone  Biscuit  that  has  lowered 
your  spirits?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
she  said. 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  he. 

There  they  were,  he,  overcoat  still  on  and  hat 
in  hand,  and  she  sitting  there  and  looking  up  at 
him  but  still  enwrapped  in  a  more  or  less  emo- 


276  THE  CASSOWARY 

tional  feverishness  contracted  from  the  volume 
in  his  hand.  Any  purely  objective  onlooker 
would  have  required  no  announcement  of  the 
approaching  "circus." 

The  girl  made  an  effort  to  recover  command 
of  herself.  "Leave  your  hat  and  overcoat  with 
the  maid,"  she  said,  "and  come  and  sit  here  in 
the  window  and  look  at  the  lake,  while  I  read  to 
you  the  beautiful  ending  of  the  story  I  have 
just  finished." 

"I  will  stay,"  Bryant  declared;  "I  was  going 
to  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  park  and  idle 
among  the  chrysanthemums,  but  this  will  be 
better."  And  he  seated  himself  near  the  window. 
"May  I  be  allowed  to  look  at  you,  instead  of 
following  your  advice  to  the  letter  and  keeping 
my  eyes  upon  the  cold,  gray  lake  water  out- 
side?" he  continued.  "No  matter  what  I  hear,  I 
shall  be  content  if  I  can  see  you." 

Miss  Selwyn  flushed  a  little,  but  laughed  good- 
humoredly. 

Here  the  purely  objective  looker-on  afore- 
mentioned might  murmur  over  the  foolhardiness 
of  man  when  he  meets,  unawares  and  all  un- 
comprehendingly,  one  of  the  bewildering  moods 
of  an  impressionable  sweetheart.  The  contented 
male  creature  rushed  blindly  to  his  fate. 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  277 

"Before  you  begin,  dear,  tell  me;  tell  me  it 
is  not  Tolstoi  or  Ibsen  you  are  going  to  read,  nor 
yet  George  Meredith  or  Sarah  Grand!" 

At  the  last  reference  Miss  Selwyn's  eyes  began 
to  flash  dangerously. 

"You  know  I  detest  her!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Do  you  refer  to  all  four  of  the  writers  I  men- 
tioned as  of  the  feminine  gender?"  inquired 
Bryant  with  an  appearance  of  fervid  interest. 
The  fool  was  actually  enjoying  it  all. 

Seeing  that  her  lover  was  only  chaffing,  Mar- 
garet made  a  brave  effort,  settled  herself  in  her 
chair  and  found  the  place  in  her  book. 

"Before  you  begin — I  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
Bryant  deferentially,  "but  let  me  say  that  I  was 
up  late  last  night,  and  if  I  can't  keep  awake 
under  the  spell  of  your  voice,  don't  blame  me. 
Wake  me  up  at  the  catastrophe,  when  the  dis- 
tant door  slams  or  somebody  breaks  a  teacup." 

Miss  Selwyn  laid  the  volume  down  again,  and, 
still  smiling,  answered  quietly  but  a  shade  frost- 

ily: 

"It  would  take  something  written  with  a 
mixture  of  raw  brandy,  blood  and  vermilion 
paint  to  arrest  your  attention,  I  believe!  Your 
authors  write  with — with — an  ax  in  place  of  a 
pen.  But  I  can't  harrow  up  my  own  imagination 


278  THE  CASSOWARY 

with  their  horrors,  much  less  read  them  aloud!" 

"An  exclusive  regime  of  problem  novels,  plays 
and  moralizings  on  pessimistic  lines  is  bad  for 
the  mental  digestion,"  admitted  Bryant  in  ju- 
dicial tones.  "Poor  girl!  I  must  teach  you  to 
live  in  and  love  this  beautiful,  violent,  sweet  and 
good  old  world  of  ours — the  world  of  real  nature, 
real  men  and  women,  and  real  literature!" 

"I  thank  you  for  your  indulgent,  patronizing 
intentions,"  she  flashed  back  at  him.  "You 
would  feed  butterflies  on  brawn,  teach  the  blue- 
bird to  scream  like  a  macaw,  make  the  tremb- 
ling, silver-leaved  white  birches  all  over  into 
oaks." 

"My  dear  Margaret — "  stammered  Bryant, 
starting  up,  but  he  could  not  lay  the  spirit  he 
had  raised. 

"There  are  questions  hi  life  that  cannot  be 
settled  by  the  stroke  of  a  sword  or  ax,"  she  went 
on.  "Your  favorite  writer  has  smirched  the  fair 
figure  of  childhood  in  his  brutal  pictures  of  boys' 
life.  He  has  made  an  unwholesome,  disgusting 
thing  out  of  what  should  be  and  is  healthful 
and  fine.  How  can  you,  who  read  him  with 
patience,  carp  at  my  taste  for  what  seems  to  me 
well  thought  and  well  expressed?" 

"The  effect  of  your  favorites  upon  you  to-day 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  279 

has  not  been  particularly  reassuring,"  said  Bry- 
ant, more  stirred  by  Margaret's  tone  and  manner 
than  by  her  words.  Seeing  that  he  had  angered 
her,  and  trying  to  stem  the  tide  of  her  indigna- 
tion, he  still  blundered  most  flagrantly,  and  with- 
in a  half  hour  the  quarrel  had  culminated  in  an 
avowed  separation  for  the  rest  of  their  lives, 
Bryant  leaving  the  house  in  a  state  of  indignant 
misery  such  as  fond  and  over-confident  lovers 
alone  may  know. 

Not  a  word  had  been  said,  this  time,  about  the 
"blue-mouldy"  girl.  The  atmosphere  had  been 
too  electric,  the  mood  too  tense  for  a  laughing 
word. 

Then  followed  silence  between  these  two. 
Stubborn  pride  on  the  part  of  the  woman, 
proud  stubbornness  on  the  part  of  the  man. 
They  were  earnestly  and  faithfully  in  love,  but 
each  waited  to  hear  the  first  word  of  forgiveness. 
Bryant  did  write,  but  in  his  preoccupation 
left  his  letter  upon  the  desk  unposted,  and  in  a 
day  it  was  snowed  under  by  his  unopened  or 
carelessly  glanced  at  mail.  Of  course  he  misun- 
derstood Miss  Selwyn's  silence  and  she  resented 
his. 

One  Sunday  morning  Margaret,  with  an  in- 
nate grasping  and  running  back  to  the  faith  in 


280  THE  CASSOWARY 

which  she  had  been  bred,  sought  help  at  the 
source  which  best  suited  her — the  relief  which 
comes  from  religion. 

It  so  chances  that  there  is  a  shrine  upon  the 
bank  of  the  Ganges.  It  so  chances  that  there  is 
what  we  call  a  Mecca.  It  so  chances  that  we 
all  occasionally  seek  our  shrines. 

Margaret  Selwyn  sat  in  her  shrine,  the  out- 
grown old  Episcopal  Cathedral  on  Washington 
Boulevard,  and  listened  to  her  pastor,  one  of 
the  great  old  men  who  have  grown  up  with  a 
creed,  but  with  thought  and  lovingness;  one 
who  has  learned  how  to  heal  wounds,  the  wounds 
of  which  no  tongue  can  tell,  and  how  to  advise 
genially  and  generally  as  to  the  affairs  of  life. 
Somehow,  the  old  gentleman,  with  his  white 
hair  and  robes,  his  simple,  clean,  old-fashioned 
honesty,  had  imparted  to  her  a  strength  and 
faith  in  God  which  calmed  and  helped  her.  It 
may  be  there  could  not  have  been  imparted  to 
her  by  any  one  else  in  the  world,  politics  and 
power  and  inherited  splendor  all  considered,  as 
much  as  could  this  plain  old  man. 

The  white-robed  boys  sang  their  recessional, 
and  she  became  perhaps  clearer  and  more 
comprehensive  of  mind  than  before  she  en- 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  281 

tered  the  church  —  certainly  more  equipoised 
than  she  had  been  for  days. 

Meditatively  alive  to  the  quiet  of  this  Sunday 
noon,  Miss  Margaret  Selwyn,  as  she  neared 
the  centre  of  the  city,  stopped  short  and  looked 
about  her.  Where  was  she? 

The  pavement  of  the  street  was  gray-blue, 
spotted  with  white,  and  gleaming  here  and 
there  with  the  iridescent  living  tints  of  bird 
plumage.  The  air  was  winged  by  soft  forms, 
and  a  crowd  of  idlers  were  scattering  grains 
of  corn  upon  the  ground  to  lure  and  keep  in 
sight  the  most  graceful  creatures  that  live  be- 
tween the  sky  and  earth. 

Against  a  sky  as  blue  as  that  of  Venice  two 
snow-white  pigeons  were  flying  straight  down 
the  street  toward  their  companions.  A  swarthy 
Italian  stood  with  the  birds  almost  under 
his  feet,  but,  save  the  dark  face  of  the  street- 
vender,  the  pigeons  and  the  perfect  sky,  the 
picture  involuntarily  imaged  in  Miss  Selwyn's 
mind  was  all  away  and  awry. 

Here  was  no  stately  tower,  remote  and  solitary 
as  a  recluse  in  a  worldly  throng ;  no  Byzantine 
temple  delighted  her  eye  with  its  warm  and 
gracious  humanity  of  suggestion.  The  vast 
sunny  space  of  the  Venetian  square,  with  its 


282  THE  CASSOWARY 

columned  coffee-houses  and  shops,  was  in  spir- 
it and  in  truth  far  removed  from  here.  St. 
Mark's,  and  the  place  where  the  dream  of  a 
moment  had  arisen  in  an  impressionable  mind, 
might  have  been  on  two  different  planets,  so 
opposed  were  they  in  every  outline,  spirit  and 
detail — save  one:  the  fluttering,  flying,  eager, 
unafraid  pigeons. 

The  sun  shot  side  glances  down  through  the 
thoroughfare  and  really  did  some  good  on  this 
day,  because  this  was  the  day  of  the  Nazarene, 
and  even  the  money-seekers  on  this  day  had 
abandoned  hi  their  affairs  the  consumption  of 
bituminous  coal.  That  is  why  on  Sunday,  in 
one  of  the  greatest  cities  hi  the  world,  the  air 
is  clear  and  the  breath  better.  That  is  one 
reason  why,  on  Sunday,  the  American  cousins 
of  the  "pigeons  of  St.  Mark's"  come  fluttering 
from  somewhere  about  the  city,  from  only 
the  Maker  of  them  knows  where,  and  dip  down- 
ward out  of  the  ether  trustingly  to  the  feet  of 
the  passer-by,  be  he  thug  or  preacher. 

Miss  Selwyn  had  never  heard  of  the  vast 
flock  of  doves  which  dwell  in  security  among 
the  towering  buildings  of  the  city.  Their 
wings  flash  across  wide  darkling  streets  all 
day,  welcome  to  every  careworn  man  who 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  283 

watches,  for  a  moment,  their  graceful  flight. 
They  were  here  before  her  now — there,  parading 
strutting,  looking  up  hopefully  toward  the 
men  about  them,  each  eagerly  seeking  the  next 
flip  of  the  corn.  They  were — and  are  to-day — 
because  of  some  gracious  instinct  in  humanity, 
the  best  casual  street  exemplification  of  what 
is  best  in  human  nature. 

They  dripped  and  dropped  from  somewhere 
almost  simultaneously.  There  was  one  who 
strutted  the  most  struttingly  and  whose  only 
really  justifiable  claim  was  that  from  crown 
to  midway  of  his  body  he  had  such  iridescent 
purple  as  all  the  shell-opening  fishermen  of 
Tyre  and  Sidon  never  devised  half-way.  There 
was  another  one,  a  quaint  little  maiden,  who 
will  probably  marry  some  English  nobleman 
of  the  birds,  snow-white,  with  strange  geo- 
metrical lines  criss-cross  about  her  back,  and 
who  was  almost  duplicated  by  a  dozen  or  two 
others  of  her  breed.  There  were  two  rufous 
things,  the  red  of  whose  top  and  back  lapsed 
into  a  white  beneath,  almost  as  exquisitely 
as  blends  the  splendid  red  hair  of  a  woman 
into  the  ever  accompaning  white  of  the  skin 
beneath.  There  were  little  drizzled  things,  pert, 
like  bantams,  off-breeds  which  had  introduced 


284  THE  CASSOWARY 

themselves  into  the  community.  And  there  was 
nothing  but  just  a  tossing  about  among  those 
beautiful  creatures  upon  the  pavement  there, 
nothing  but  an  Oliver  Twistish  clamor  for 
"more"  from  those  who  stood  above  them,  to 
whom  they  were  doing  more  good  than  they 
could  know. 

On  week  days  the  pigeons  fly  out  in  foraging 
parties  to  the  railway  yards  and  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  huge  grain  elevators.  They  can 
be  seen  glancing  above  the  tall  buildings,  far 
flying,  specks  of  gleaming  light,  along  the 
hollow  spaces  above  the  streets  as  they  go 
and  come  from  their  feeding  places.  The 
crowded  masses  of  wagons,  street  cars,  car- 
riages, horses  and  hurrying  people  keep  the 
pigeons  from  the  street  where  they  are  most 
at  home  together  for  six  days.  But  on  the 
seventh,  when  the  burden  of  labor  is  lifted  or 
a  brief  space  from  the  shoulders  of  toiling 
mankind,  the  pigeons  rally  in  force  upon  one 
of  the  most  busy,  prosaic,  care-breeding  cor- 
ners in  the  great  spreading  city  by  the  lake. 
And  every  Sunday  come,  as  surely,  men  and 
boys  to  feed  the  air-travelers  and  look  at  them 
with  the  worship  all  men  feel  for  natural  beau- 
ty and  grace. 


"HE  WAS  UNCONSCIOUS  AS  A  CHILD" 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  285 

Miss  Selwyn  had  chanced  upon  this  unique 
function,  the  pigeons'  Sunday  banquet.  Here 
were  no  appealing  graces  of  architecture  and 
Venetian  balm  of  atmosphere.  The  rough  pave- 
ment on  which  the  yellow  corn  was  scattered 
was  a  contrast  to  the  smooth  and  perfect  floor  of 
the  great  Piazza.  On  one  side  was  the  inevitable 
American  drug  store,  plain,  matter-of-fact,  yet 
giving,  by  its  crimson  and  purple  window  globes, 
the  only  touch  of  pure  color  in  that  part  of  the 
street.  Across  the  way  was  a  hotel.  A  clothing 
store,  with  its  paraphernalia  of  advertisement, 
occupied  another  corner.  It  was  Clark  and  Mad- 
ison Streets. 

Miss  Selwyn  saw  every  detail  of  this  scene  at 
a  glance,  and  then  her  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
one  figure. 

Standing  among  the  others  was  Henry  Biyant. 
His  straight,  powerful  figure,  commanding  in 
presence  and  pose,  seemed  to  separate  him,  in 
a  way,  from  the  men  around  him.  But,  like  all 
the  onlookers,  he  bought  corn  and  scattered  the 
grain  on  the  ground,  watching  the  pigeons  as 
they  clustered  around  his  largess.  He  was  as  un- 
conscious as  a  child,  and  as  gentle,  about  his 
simple  pleasure.  His  face  was  a  little  worn  and 
changed  by  the  suffering  of  the  days  of  separa- 


286  THE  CASSOWARY 

tion  from  her — Margaret's  eyes  were  quick  to 
see  that. 

That  was  the  man  from  whom  she  had  sepa- 
rated after  a  wordy  war  over  wordy  books.  That 
was  her  lover  over  there.  His  whole  look,  atti- 
tude and  occupation  appealed  to  her  tenderness. 
Love  rushed  tumultously  onward,  a  tide  of 
irresistible  strength,  sweeping  away  every  care- 
fully-built structure  of  repulse  and  every  barrier 
of  opinion.  Their  quarrel  was  forgotten.  Yet 
the  reserve  of  a  proud  nature  and  of  custom  kept 
Miss  Selwyn  from  crossing  over  to  speak  to 
Bryant. 

She  walked  home  with  a  springing  step.  Once 
the  thought  came  into  her  mind  that  Bryant 
might  go  away  somewhere  at  once;  that  the 
message  she  was  hurrying  to  send  him  might  not 
reach  him,  and  at  the  idea  she  felt  faint  and  dis- 
heartened. She  stopped  and,  for  an  instant, 
almost  turned  back,  but,  checking  herself  with 
a  smile  at  her  own  impatience  and  trivial  fore- 
bodings, she  held  on  her  homeward  way  again. 

She  could  see  her  lover,  and  see  him  as  plainly 
as  when  he  was  in  reality  before  her,  all  uncon- 
scious of  her  presence,  half  absent-mindedly  and 
all  tenderly  scattering  grain  for  the  cooing, 
fluttering  pigeons  at  his  feet. 


A  LITERARY  LOVE  AFFAIR  287 

The  next  morning,  Bryant,  looking  over  his 
mail  with  little  relish — for  much  of  the  interest 
in  living  was  out  of  him  just  then — found  a  letter 
which  aroused  him  most  effectually  from  his 
mood  of  listlessness.  It  said: 

DEAR:  I  am  "blue-mouldy  for  want  of  a  batin'."  Come  to 
me.  MARGARET. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING 

None  but  could  smile  upon  the  spinster  and 
be  glad  of  the  little  tale  she  told.  Half  the  world 
knows  of  the  pigeons  so  nourished  on  one  of 
the  most  crowded  corners  in  the  heart  of  a 
great,  turbulent  city,  but  none  had  thought  be- 
fore of  what  might  accompany  this  exhibition  of 
the  fact  that  there  is  still  a  regard  for  beings  of 
the  lower  and  less  grasping  life.  Very  pleasant 
was  the  conversation  and  very  understanding 
were  the  comments,  but  the  Colonel,  like  many 
a  commander  of  the  past,  from  Joshua  down, 
noted  the  swift  passing  of  the  hours  of  day  and 
was  insatiate  for  more  of  what  might  be  attained 
before  it  was  too  late.  He  called  upon  the  Bank- 
er. That  gentleman,  easy,  suave  and  really  a 
good  specimen  of  the  class  which  inclines  us  to 
save  by  taking  care  of  our  savings — and  only 
rarely  departing  with  them — was  quite  equal  to 
the  demand  at  the  paying-teller's  window.  "I 
have  listened,"  he  said,  "to  these  accounts, 
some  of  adventure,  some  of  fancy,  some  of  love 

888 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  289 

and  persistence,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that 
even  I  might  contribute  something  to  the  gen- 
eral fund.  Oddly  enough,  as  coming  from  me, 
what  I  shall  tell  is  a  story  of  love  and  courage 
and  persistence  all  combined.  It  is  not  a  tale  of 
some  far  country,  but  one  of  our  modern  life, 
a  tale  of  true  lovers  whose  union  was  opposed 
but  who  came  together  at  last  in  spite  of  ob- 
stacles. I  think  we  may  term  it 

"ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING" 

Mr.  Gentil  Abercrombie  is  a  fine  fellow, 
quick-witted,  and  amiable,  with  prospects  in 
the  world,  but  he  is  not,  as  yet,  wealthy. 
Last  spring  he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Frances 
Dobson,  and  the  young  lady  seemed  not  en- 
tirely oblivious  of  the  fact  nor  altogether  dis- 
pleased with  it.  The  affair  appeared  prosper- 
ous to  the  hopeful  Abercrombie  until  the 
middle  of  June,  when  the  Dobson  family 
moved  to  their  country  home  at  a  modest  lit- 
tle watering  place  not  far  from  the  city,  leav- 
ing the  suitor  in  a  position  he  did  not  like. 
A  resolute  gentleman,  though,  is  Mr.  Aber- 
crombie, and  he  followed  his  star,  taking 
apartments  at  the  watering-place  hotel,  com- 
ing into  town  by  train  daily  and  returning 
in  the  evening. 


290  THE  CASSOWARY 

The  young  lady  thus  sought  had  the  for- 
tune to  be  the  only  daughter  of  her  somewhat 
austere  parents,  Mr.  James  Dobson  and  Mrs. 
Irene  Dobson,  each  distinctly  of  the  class  not 
to  be  trifled  with  by  any  too  aspiring  suitor. 
Abercrombie  was  admitted  to  the  Dobson 
residence,  for  he  has  good  social  standing — but 
his  reception  was  not  as  warm  as  the  weather. 
It  appeared  to  each  of  the  lovers  early  in  the 
season  that  it  was  best  to  be  politic,  and  that 
Abercrombie  was  not,  as  yet,  looked  upon 
by  the  father  and  mother  as  a  person  with 
that  superabundance  of  worldly  goods  and  of 
stability  of  character  and  wisdom  which  should 
appertain  to  the  husband  of  the  Family  Pride. 
Hence  it  came  that  Abercrombie  made  an  effort 
whenever  an  opportunity  offered  to  become 
what  he  remarked  to  himself  as  "solid  with  the 
old  folks."  Hence  it  came,  too,  that  at  a  cer- 
tain trying  time  there  arrived  in  his  immediate 
vicinity  a  certain  quantity  and  quality  of  dis- 
aster. 

It  chanced  that  on  one  occasion,  Aber- 
crombie, seeking,  as  usual,  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  parents,  drifted  into  a  discussion 
concerning  the  bringing  up  of  children  and 
expressed  himself  to  the  effect  that,  in  place 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  291 

of  the  usual  inane  though  amusing  fairy  stor- 
ies and  things  of  that  sort,  children  should 
in  their  youth,  when  the  memory  fairly  pet- 
rifies things,  be  entertained  with  pleasant 
tales  about  natural  history  and  in  fact  about 
anything  likely  to  aid  most  in  future  equip- 
ment for  the  great  struggle  in  the  world.  Of 
natural  history  he  made  a  point.  Well,  one 
evening,  in  just  what  poets  call  the  "gloam- 
ing," Abercrombie,  the  parents,  Frances  and 
young  Erastus  Dobson  were  sitting  together 
upon  the  front  porch,  when,  suddenly,  from 
some  inscrutable  impulse,  Erastus  broke  out 
with  the  exclamation: 

"Mr.  Abercrombie,  tell  me  a  story." 
Here  was  a  situation !  It  flashed  upon  Aber- 
crombie, that  he  had,  as  already  mentioned, 
impressed  upon  the  elder  people  the  fact  that, 
in  his  opinion,  the  youthful  mind  should  be 
loaded  with  natural  history  when  tales  were 
imposed  upon  it.  There  was  no  alternative. 
Here  were  the  older  people  listening  and  ex- 
pectant. Here  was  Erastus,  vociferous.  Here 
was  his  own  sweetheart,  sitting  in  the  half  dark- 
ness and  wondering  if  he  were  equal  to  the 
occasion ! 
Abercrombie  quivered  for  a  moment  trying 


292  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  collect  his  senses  which  seemed  to  have  been, 
somehow,  "jolted"  by  Erastus'  request,  and 
then  suddenly  became  so  desperate  and  cold- 
blooded that  he  could  not  understand  himself. 

"Yes,  Erastus,"  he  said,  affably;  "I  will  tell 
you  a  story,  most  willingly."  Then  he  con- 
tinued : 

"This  is  the  story  of  the  Boy  and  the  Bull 
and  the  Horned  Hen.  Once  there  was  a  boy. 
It  has  frequently  happened  that  there  was  a 
boy,  so  that  it  is  hardly  worth  while  referring 
to  such  a  thing  now,  but,  since  we  have  men- 
tioned it,  we'll  let  it  go.  Tum-a-row!  This 
boy  lived  hi  the  country  and  was  kind  to  a 
Hen.  Little  did  he  know  that  the  hen  ap- 
preciated and  remembered  it,  but  she  did! 
One  day  this  boy  started  to  cross  a  meadow  in 
which  was  a  savage  bull,  and  the  boy  forgot  he 
had  on  his  red  sweater.  In  the  middle  of  the 
meadow  stood  a  tree  which  was  blasted  and 
which  looked  almost  like  a  cone.  It  was  what 
a  young  kindergarten  teacher  might  describe 
as  a  trunk  from  which  the  branches  had  been 
riven  away  in  some  of  Nature's  convulsions, 
probably  electric.  Anyhow,  the  bull  started 
for  the  boy  and  the  boy  started  for  the  tree. 
Tum-a-row!  The  boy  reached  the  tree  four 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  293 

and  one-third  seconds  before  the  bull  reached 
the  same  place,  and  the  boy  began  climbing 
and  was  at  least  thirty  feet  from  the  ground 
before  the  bull  arrived.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  the  boy  climbed  with  much  rapidity.  The 
bull  followed  rapaciously — yes,  that's  the  word 
—and  began  climbing  also  with  great  rapidity 
behind  the  boy,  and  there  was  a  race  to  what — 
if  the  term  may  be  applied  to  such  a  dead  trunk 
of  a  tree — to  the  topmast.  There  the  tree 
sloped  to  a  point,  which  the  boy,  climbing 
with  avidity — that's  the  word, — reached  easily, 
under  the  stress  of  circumstances.  The  bull, 
climbing  swiftly  after,  attained  a  height  of 
between  ten  and  fifteen  feet  from  his  intended 
victim,  and  then,  reaching  the  slope  of  com- 
pression, as  one  may  say,  of  the  dead  tree, 
suddenly  found  himself  without  sufficient  grasp 
and  slid  down,  again  and  again,  as  he  sought 
to  reach  the  apex  of  the  cone.  The  boy,  mean- 
while, was  and  properly,  too,  in  a  state  of 
utmost  fear,  as  the  bull  from  time  to  time 
seemed  almost  successful  in  his  upward  at- 
tempts. 

"But  there  is  a  limit  to  endeavor.  The  bull, 
fatigued  at  last,  slid  downward  to  the  ground, 
just  as  the  hen,  who,  happily  for  the  boy,  had 


294  THE  CASSOWARY 

noted  from  the  distant  barnyard  what  was  go- 
ing on,  came  desperately  to  the  rescue.  The 
struggle  which  ensued  was  something  doubtless 
without  a  parallel,  or  anything  else  in  the 
way  of  similitude,  in  the  history  of  single  com- 
bats. It  was  something  frightful !  The  bellow- 
ing of  the  hen,  the  hissing  and  cackling  of  the 
bull,  the  scattering  of  scales  from  both  adver- 
saries as  they  clashed  together,  cannot  be  ade- 
quately described.  But  the  end  came  quickly. 
There  came  a  moment,  when  perspiring  and 
panting,  the  hen  gored  the  bull  with  all  her 
might,  mind  and  strength,  and  he  fell  lifeless 
to  the  ground. 

"The  moral  of  this  story  is,  be  kind  to  a  hen. 
Tum-a-row!" 

"Why  do  you  say  Tum-a-row'?"  suddenly 
demanded  Erastus. 

"Well,  I  hardly  know,  myself,"  said  Aber- 
crombie.  "I  guess  it's  a  sort  of  accompaniment. 
It  came  hi  an  old  farmer's  song  I  heard  when 
I  was  a  little  boy,  in  an  old  song  which  told 
about  a  young  man  who  went  'down  hi  the 
medder  for  to  mow/  and  who  'mowed  around 
till  he  did  feel  a  pizen  sarpint  bite  him  on  the 
heel;'  and,  every  little  while,  through  the  song 
came  the  word  Tum-a-row.'  That's  the  reason 


295 

Tum-a-row'  comes  in  so  often  in  the  story. 
It  isn't  my  fault;  it  just  seems  to  belong. 
Tum-a-row!" 

"Tell  me  another !  Tell  me  another !' '  shouted 
young  Erastus,  but  there  came  no  sound  from 
the  twilight  which  encompassed  the  old  people, 
nor  from  the  gloaming  about  the  sweetheart, 
though  little  did  it  matter.  Abercrombie  had 
passed  the  caring  point ! 

"One  more  will  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  speaking 
in  a  resonant  and  rotund  voice,  to  the  wide- 
mouthed  and  expectant  Erastus.  "This  is  the 
story  of  the  Dark  Forest,  the  Charcoal  Burners, 
the  Witch  and  the  Boa  Constrictor. 

"Once  there  was  a  forest  so  dark  that  you 
cannot  conceive  of  its  darkness.  Oh!  it  was 
just  a  forest  dark  from  Darkville!  It  was 
fringed  about  with  a  forest  which  was  somewhat 
lighter,  in  which  things  lived,  but  nothing  lived 
in  the  forest  itself;  it  was  too  black!  Among 
the  people  who  lived  in  this  lighter  fringe  of 
forest  were  some  Charcoal  Burners.  You  will 
always  find  charcoal  burners  connected  with 
a  deep  forest  story,  particularly  in  the  German 
Medieval  Legends.  The  Charcoal  Burners  in 
those  stories  usually  lived  in  some  glade  in  the 
middle  of  the  wood,  but  the  Charcoal  Burners 


296  THE  CASSOWARY 

we  are  telling  about  lived  on  the  outside  for  the 
reason  we  have  given — but  they  ought  not 
really  to  be  called  'burners/  because  they  did 
not  burn  anything.  Whenever  orders  came 
for  charcoal  they  simply  took  their  shovels  and 
went  down  an  aisle  into  the  depth  of  the  inner 
wood  and  dug  out  great  hunks  of  the  blackness, 
which  they  brought  out  and  stacked  upon 
wagons,  and  which  were  conveyed  to  Vienna 
and  Weisbaden  and  Oshkosh  and  all  the  other 
charcoal  commercial  centers. 

"Now  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
story.  These  matters  about  the  Charcoal  Burn- 
ers I  have  related  only  because  it  chances  that 
from  the  Charcoal  Burners  themselves  the  real 
story  was  gained.  We  ought  to  be  grateful 
to  them  for  what  they  have  told. 

"Four  or  five  miles  east  of  the  Charcoal 
Burners  lived  a  Boa  Constrictor.  He  was 
sixty  feet  long  and  had  a  gilt-edged  appetite. 
I  don't  believe  in  using  slang,  and  gilt-edged 
is  slightly  slangy,  but  the  bald  fact  stands  out 
that  he  had  a  gilt-edged  appetite.  He  lived 
mostly  on  wild  boars,  but,  when  the  supply  of 
wild  boars  gave  out  on  any  occasion,  he  lived 
on  most  anything  that  came  along. 

"Now,  five  miles  east  of  the  Boa  Constrictor 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  297 

lived  a  Witch,  and  she  was  a  witch  from  Witch- 
ville.  She  was  not  any  common  witch,  but  one 
whose  slightest  anathema  would  just  curl  your 
hair.  Talk  about  brimstone!  Why  brimstone 
would  be  just  ice  cream  in  any  comparison 
you  could  make  between  this  witch  and  other 
things  in  the  world.  She  knew  her  business! 
Well,  this  Witch  had  three  children,  two  sons 
and  a  daughter,  nice  little  children,  in  their 
way.  It  happened,  unfortunately,  one  after- 
noon, that  they  strayed  into  the  forest;  and 
this  afternoon  happened  to  be  the  particular 
afternoon  on  which  the  Boa  Constrictor  had  run 
out  of  wild  boars.  He  consumed  the  kids — I 
beg  your  pardon;  young  as  you  are,  I  beg 
your  pardon — I  meant  to  say  that  he  devoured 
the  three  young  children,  that  he  encompassed 
them  after  the  constrictor  manner. 

"By  and  by,  the  Witch  missed  her  children 
and,  induced  by  maternal  instinct,  went  out 
looking  for  them,  and  so  came  to  the  abode 
of  the  Constrictor.  They  had  been  on  good 
enough  terms  and  she  approached  him  affably. 

"  'Good  morning,  Mr  Constrictor,'  said  she. 

"  'Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Witch/  said  the 
Constrictor. 

"  'Have  you  seen  my  children?'  asked  the  lady. 


298  THE  CASSOWARY 

"  'I  have  not',  said  the  Constrictor. 

"The  Witch  was  about  to  depart  when  a 
thought  seemed  to  seize  her  and  she  turned  just 
about  half  way,  assuming  what  may  be  des- 
ignated as  a  suddenly  reflective  attitude; 

"  'Are  you  sure,  Mr.  Constrictor?'  said  she. 

"  'I  am  sure'  said  he. 

"Only  a  person  with  nerves  under  absolute 
control  could  have  been  present  on  that  occasion 
and  considered  unmoved  the  changes  in  the 
Witch's  face.  The  accumulative  grimness  of 
her  countenance  became  something  startling. 
She  spoke  slowly  but  her  voice  had  that  hard, 
low,  even  tone  which  we  read  about  in  novels. 

"  'What  is  the  reason  that  you  are  so  big  in 
the  middle?'  said  she. 

"  'I  am  not  big  in  the  middle,  your  eyes 
deceive  you,'  said  he. 

"  'You  are  lying,  Mr.  Constrictor,'  said  she, 
'and  I'm  going  to  make  you  tell  the  truth.  I 
am  going  to  make  an  Incantation  over  and 
around  and  all  about  you  that  will  give  you 
some  idea  of  what  forces  are  at  work  in  the 


universe.' 


"Then  from  somewhere  about  her  skirt,  she 
pulled  out  a  broomstick,  and  waved  it  five  times, 
and  said;  'Abracadabra,  Pentagon'  and  some 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  299 

other  things,  and,  of  course,  the  performance 
had  its  effect  and  the  Constrictor  had  to  tell 
the  truth.  He  simply  had  to!  He  admitted 
the  consumption  of  the  three  children. 

"Imagine  the  demeanor  of  the  Witch  when 
she  learned  that  her  three  children  had  been 
devoured  by  the  Constrictor!  For  a  little 
tune  she  was  speechless  and  white  hi  the  face, 
then,  as  reason  and  the  control  of  her  powers 
returned,  the  malignant  look  which  came  was 
something  that  simply  defies  description.  Her 
voice,  as  she  spoke  to  the  Constrictor  this  time, 
was  shrill  and  raucous. 

"  'I  am  going  to  pronounce  an  Anathema 
upon  you/  she  said,  'and  I'm  going  to  do  it 
now.  I  am  going  to  make  you  the  same  at 
both  ends.' 

"A  very  adroit  and  clever  Constrictor  was 
this,  and  he  said  nothing.  But  he  chuckled 
to  himself :  'If  she  makes  me  the  same  at  both 
ends,  I  will  have  more  fun  than  ever.  With  a 
mouth  at  each  end,  I  can  eat  twice  as  many 
wild  boars  and  be  twice  as  happy.'  He  coiled 
closer  to  the  ground  with  a  look  of  affected 
submission,  and  the  Witch  went  on  with  her 
Anathema. 

"It  was  a  fine  anathema,  there  was  no  ques- 


300  THE  CASSOWARY 

tion  about  it.  Even  the  leaves  on  the  trees 
about  first  turned  brown,  then  crackled  and 
then  smoked,  as  she  was  making  her  few  re- 
marks. She  completed  the  formula  and  de- 
parted, leaving  the  Constrictor  to  become  the 
same  at  both  ends,  and  he  lay  there,  still  chuck- 
ling, waiting  for  his  double-headedness  and 
double  enjoyment  in  the  future. 

"Then  came  to  him  a  sort  of  quivery  feeling, 
and  he  knew  that  he  was  changing.  It  did  not 
take  more  than  an  hour  at  the  utmost,  when 
that  Constrictor  suddenly  realized  that  he  was 
the  same  at  both  ends,  but — he  did  not  have 
two  heads!  He  had  two  tails!  There  he  was, 
a  great  Boa  Constrictor,  sixty  feet  long,  with  a 
tail  at  each  end.  Of  course  only  one  thing 
could  happen  to  a  Boa  Constrictor  with  a  tail 
at  each  end.  He  must  starve  to  death,  simply 
because  he  could  not  eat.  Day  after  day 
passed,  and  the  Constrictor  grew  less  and  less 
in  dimensions,  and,  finally,  the  day  came  when 
there  was  only  a  little  worm,  smaller  than  an 
angle-worm.  Then  the  day  came  when  there 
was  no  worm  at  all. 

"And  that  is  the  end  of  the  story,  because 
there  isn't  any  more  worm!" 

The  last  sentence  of  the  tale  was  concluded. 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  301 

Silence  prevailed  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  there  was  a  gasp  of  delight  and  approval 
from  Erastus. 

"That's  bully!"  he  said.  "Will  you  tell  me 
some  more,  some  other  time,  Mr.  Abercrombie?" 

"Certainly,  my  boy,"  said  Abercrombie.  "It 
is  well  that  we  should  become  acquainted  with 
natural  history,  and  in  the  simple  tales  I  tell 
you  I  shall  endeavor  at  all  times  to  introduce 
such  information  as  will  increase  your  store 
of  knowledge.  Above  all,  we  must  get  ac- 
quainted with  natural  history." 

He  paused.  The  boy  had  nothing  to  say. 
Unfortunately,  nobody  else  had  anything  to 
say.  To  Abercrombie  the  silence  seemed,  in 
a  vague  way  that  he  could  not  fully  comprehend, 
destructive.  There  was  something  the  matter 
with  the  atmosphere  and  he  knew  it.  The 
gloaming  had  drifted  into  darkness,  and  he 
could  no  longer  see  either  his  prospective 
father-in-law  or  mother-in-law  or  his  sweet- 
heart. He  knew  only  that,  as  an  adviser  of 
parents  of  the  younger  male  offspring  of  the 
two  who  were  also  parents  of  his  one  object  hi 
life,  he  had  flashed  presumptuously  in  the  pan, 
that,  too,  in  the  dimness  of  the  gathering  dark- 
ness, when  people  are  most  reflective  and  that 


302  THE  CASSOWARY 

he  had  accomplished  the  possibility  irretriev- 
able. 

The  silence  was  broken  at  last  by  the  voice 
of  Mrs.  Dobson.  The  voice  was  thin  and  didn't 
seem  to  really  "break"  the  silence.  It  seemed 
to  split  it  neatly. 

"Are  those  your  ideas,  Mr.  Abercrombie, 
as  to  the  sort  of  knowledge  of  natural  history 
which  should  be  conveyed  to  young  children?" 

"Yes,  I'd  like  to  know,  myself,"  added  Mr. 
Dobson. 

Not  a  laugh,  not  a  comment,  not  a  sound 
came  from  the  corner  where  sat  Miss  Frances 
Dobson.  She  was  strictly  an  aside. 

Abercrombie  pondered  through  swift  seconds. 
He  was  in  what,  in  his  own  mind — so  much  are 
we  addicted  to  the  pernicious  habit  of  thinking 
in  the  vernacular — 'in  a  hole'.  But,  the  man 
at  bay  has  frequently  proved  a  hero  hi  a  plain 
North  American  way.  Abercrombie  arose  to 
the  occasion! 

"It  may  be,"  he  said,  "that  in  the  telling  to 
Erastus  of  these  simple  tales,  I  have  not 
followed  precisely  the  practices  of  those  gener- 
ally engaged  in  the  teaching  of  youth.  It  may 
be  that  I  have  not  instructed  him  in  the  manner 
in  which  I  might  have  done  had  I  allowed  a 


ABERCROMBIE'S  WOOING  303 

few  years  to  lapse  and  my  beard  to  grow  longer 
and  had  shaved  my  upper  lip.  It  may  be  that 
in  the  tales  I  have  told  Erastus  there  are  cer- 
tain discrepancies,  synchronisms,  and  anachro- 
nisms. My  pictures  may  have  possessed  a  shade 
too  much  of  the  impressionist  character.  But 
what  of  it?  What  I  wanted  to  do  was  to 
give  Erastus  a  general  idea  of  Black  Forests, 
Witches,  and  Boa  Constrictors." 

Silence  reigned  again,  and  reigned  very  thor- 
oughly for  some  time.  Then  up  rose  the 
modern  young  woman. 

No  one  in  the  room  could  see  any  one  else, 
but  all  could  hear.  What  the  parents  heard 
was  the  sound  of  light  footsteps  along  the  porch 
and  then,  after  a  pause ; 

"You're  a  ridiculous  gentleman, — Don't  pull 
me  so!" 

What  they  heard  also  was  a  thoughtful  and 
generally  commendatory  remark  from  Erastus: 

"Say,  old  man,  you're  all  right.  You're  the 
stuff!" 

They  heard  no  more  at  the  time.  The  next 
morning  was  a  fine  morning — there  have  been 
lots  of  them — and,  as  breakfast  was  about 
ending,  there  took  place  a  conversation  between 
her  parents  and  Miss  Dobson — a  conversation 


304  THE  CASSOWARY 

inaugurated   by   them   but   ended,   decidedly, 
by  her. 

Given  a  young  woman,  the  only  one  in  the 
family  and  possessed  of  character,  she  can 
usually  make  her  parents  "know  their  place," 
though  doing  all  this,  of  course,  with  kindness 
and  consideration.  Miss  Dobson  and  Aber- 
crombie  are  formally  engaged.  The  fortunate 
but  alarmed  young  man  had  not  realized  what 
would  happen  when  the  reinforcements  came 
up. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

EVAN  CUMMINGS'    COURTSHIP 

There  was  frivolous  talk  and  disputation 
and  some  serious  reasoning,  as  the  necessary 
sequence  of  what  had  been  told.  There  was 
discussion  as  to  what  excuse  there  had  been  for 
the  demeanor  of  Mr.  Abercrombie,  and  even 
some  quiet  suggestion  to  the  Banker  that,  very 
much  to  his  credit,  he  could,  himself,  imagine 
things,  upon  occasions  such  as  this,  and  that, 
possibly,  he  might  have  risen  somewhat  to  the 
emergency,  but  the  chaffing  was  of  the  listless 
sort.  The  sun  was  not  visible  save  from  the 
rear  end  of  the  rear  car  of  the  train,  but  its  rays 
deflected,  slanted,  yellow-red,  along  the  sides 
of  the  pass  calling  the  attention  of  all  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  almost  supper-tune.  More 
hanging  together  in  a  Wayside  Tales  companion- 
ship? Hardly!  They  had  appetites  and  they 
dissolved  as  dissolve  the  vapors,  or  the  friends 
made  by  letters  of  introduction,  or  snow  on  the 
top  of  a  distillery,  or  your  dreams,  or  Mary  when 
you  need  her,  or  anything  else.  Similes  are 


305 


306  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  cheapest  thing  on  the  market!  The  sum 
of  it  was  that  an  afternoon  had  been  killed 
without  undue  atrocity  and  now  all  scattered 
and  prepared  themselves  and  went  in  to  supper. 
They  enjoyed  themselves  together  and  then  the 
ladies  drifted  back  to  the  talking  habitat,  while 
the  men,  or  at  least  a  number  of  them,  found 
the  smoking  compartments,  either  the  big  one 
of  the  Cassowary  or  one  of  those  in  other 
coaches. 

There  are  all  kinds  of  traveling  men.  This 
is  not  generally  understood,  but  it  is  a  fact. 
The  impression  has,  somehow,  obtained  that  a 
traveling  man  or  "Drummer,"  or  whatever 
we  should  call  Dickens'  "Bagman"  in  the 
western  Hemisphere,  is  a  person  who  is  careless 
of  the  conventionalities,  who  relies  upon  a 
certain  hardihood  in  thrusting  himself  anywhere 
into  the  place  of  immediate  consequence  or 
convenience.  Never  was  a  greater  mistake 
in  popular  opinion.  There  are  blatant  com- 
mercial travelers,  of  course.  There  will  be 
fools  in  any  part  of  the  world's  work.  It  is  a 
matter  of  fact,  though,  that  the  man  whose 
business  it  is  to  influence  mentally  other  men 
and  women  must,  necessarily,  have  tact  and 
understanding  and  that  he  must  be  often  more 


EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP  307 

quick  of  conception  and  more  readily  responsive 
to  the  proper  demand  of  his  fellow-creatures 
than  one  less  extremely  educated  in  certain 
ways  of  the  vagrant  world. 

The  man  called  upon  was  one  of  the  greater 
type.  He  laughingly  accepted  the  situation: 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  a  story,  but  it  is 
so  foolish  that  I  can  hardly  expect  you  to 
believe  it.  It  is  merely  the  story  of  one  man 
I  knew  and  of  how  he  got  his  wife.  He  did  not 
get  her  in  quite  the  ordinary  way.  I'll  tell  you 
all  I  know  about  him,  and  I've  known  him 
almost  from  boyhood.  I'll  tell  you  everything 
as  it  was." 

EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP 

I  think  Evan  Cummings  had  the  most 
remarkable  personality  of  any  traveling  man 
I  ever  met,  a  personality  which  indicated  itself 
especially  in  the  closing  incident  of  his  love 
affair.  He  was  a  good-looking  fellow,  of  Scotch 
descent,  with  all  the  tenacity  of  purpose  of  his 
race.  He  was  a  good  man  to  meet  upon  the 
train.  When  we  were  gathered  in  the  smoking 
compartment  Evan  was  as  full  of  spirits  as 
the  rest,  but  I  noticed  that,  while  taking  an 
active  part  in  the  conversation,  he  never  told 


308  THE  CASSOWARY 

any  of  the  somewhat  risque  stories  that  the 
air  of  the  smoking  compartment  too  often 
breeds.  Instead,  he  would  tell  uncanny  tales 
of  Scotland  hi  the  old  days,  tales  of  wizards 
and  warlocks,  and  of  the  strange  things  to  be 
seen  at  night  on  ancient  battle-fields,  and  we 
always  listened  to  him  with  interest.  He  was 
mightily  fixed  in  his  views  and  many  a  good- 
natured  dispute  we  had  with  him  over  this  or 
that.  Eh,  but  he  was  stubborn! 

Evan  was  a  good  man  of  business,  though, 
and  had  a  host  of  friends.  Among  these  was 
the  conductor  of  a  tram  on  which  he  often 
traveled  and  the  friendship  developed  into  such 
a  degree  of  intimacy  that  one  day  the  conductor, 
Luke  Johnson,  invited  him  out  to  dinner  with 
him.  Evan,  having  no  particular  business 
on  hand  that  evening,  accepted  the  invitation. 

Johnson's  house  was  in  the  suburbs,  decid- 
edly. It  was  on  the  very  picket  line  of  the  army 
of  houses  of  the  ever-marching  city,  out  on  the 
prairie  at  least  a  couple  of  blocks  distant  from 
any  other  house.  A  plank  sidewalk  extended 
to  it  from  the  more  settled  district  near  and, 
with  its  barns  and  sheds  and  vine-covered 
front,  it  did  not  have  a  lonesome  look.  Inside 
Evan  found  the  house  quite  as  prepossessing 


EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP  309 

as  its  exterior  and  he  found  something  else  there 
more  prepossessing  still. 

Johnson's  family  consisted  of  himself,  his 
wife,  his  child,  little  Gabriel,  about  four  years 
old,  and  his  sister-in-law,  a  Miss  Salome  Hinman. 
Evan  found  Mrs.  Johnson  a  pleasant  sort  of  a 
woman  and  found  in  Miss  Hinman  his  undeni- 
able affinity.  Stolid  as  he  usually  was  in  the 
presence  of  femininity,  he  felt,  in  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones,  that  he  was  a  lost  man. 
That  he  succumbed  so  quickly  was  not  alto- 
gether to  be  wondered  at.  Miss  Hinman  was 
pretty,  was  very  slender — what  a  school-girl 
writer  would  call  willowy  or  lissom  or,  possibly, 
svelte — and  was  wildly  devoted  to  her  little 
nephew,  of  whom  she  had  the  chief  care. 

Well,  Evan  didn't  waste  any  time.  He  con- 
trived it  so  that  he  was  in  the  city  often  and, 
as  often,  was  at  Johnson's  house,  making  vigor- 
ous love  to  Miss  Salome.  Finally,  he  accepted 
a  good  city  position  with  his  firm  and  abandoned 
the  road,  just  for  the  sake  of  being  near  his 
sweetheart,  though  he  liked  the  road  better. 
All  would  have  gone  well  now,  but  for  the  young 
lady.  He  knew  she  cared  for  him,  for  she  had 
admitted  it,  but  she  was  a  bit  of  a  coquette  and 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation  of  playing  a  fish 


310  THE  CASSOWARY 

so  firmly  hooked.  Urge  as  Evan  might,  he 
could  not  persuade  her  to  fix  a  date  for  their 
marriage.  She  would  not  absolutely  deny  him, 
but  she  was  elusive.  He  became  desperate. 
Something  must  be  done.  It  was. 

One  day  just  as  Evan,  brooding  as  he  walked, 
neared  the  home  of  his  sweetheart  to  renew 
his  useless  pleading,  he  noticed  little  Gabriel 
playing  in  the  yard  with  a  toy  balloon  the 
string  of  which  was  tied  to  a  button-hole  of  his 
jacket  and  which  tugged  strenuously  away  at 
him.  Evan  sat  down  upon  the  horse-block  in 
front  of  the  house,  watching  the  boy  dreamily, 
and  trying  to  devise  a  plan  to  bring  Miss  Salome 
to  terms,  when,  all  at  once,  his  planning  ceased 
as  suddenly  as  the  stopping  of  a  clock.  The 
boy  and  the  balloon  had  given  him  an  awful 
inspiration !  He  returned  to  town. 

That  evening  Evan  Cummings  bought  a  toy 
balloon,  some  bird-shot  and  one  of  the  tiniest 
of  little  baskets.  In  his  room  at  the  hotel  he 
attached  the  string  of  the  balloon  to  the  handle 
of  the  basket.  Then,  as  the  balloon  with  its 
burden  rose  toward  the  ceiling,  he  dropped  shot 
after  shot  into  the  little  receptacle  until  the 
balloon  could  no  longer  raise  it.  Taking  the 
little  basket  of  shot  to  the  drug  store,  he  had 


EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP  311 

the  basket  and  shot   carefully  weighed.    He 
now  knew  the  exact  lifting  power  of  a  toy 
balloon — it  was  just  five  ounces.    He  had  seen 
Gabriel  weighed  and  knew  that  he  tipped  the 
scale   at   forty-two    pounds.    The   calculation 
was  easy ;  sixteen  ounces  in  a  pound ;  sixteen 
multiplied  by  forty-two  makes  six  hundred  and 
seventy-two.    Gabriel,  therefore,  weighed  672 
ounces :  a  single  toy  balloon  would  lift  not  quite 
five  ounces;  five  goes  into  six  hundred  and 
seventy-two,  one  hundred  and  thirty-f our  times ; 
one  hundred  and  thirty-five  toy  balloons  would 
lift  little  Gabriel.    The  next  day  Evan  went  to 
a  harness  shop  and  had  a  stout  leather  harness 
made  which  would  just  about  fit  Gabriel,  pass- 
ing round  his  small  body  under  the  arms  and 
over  his  shoulders,  from  each  of  which  two 
broad  straps  extended  upward  and  met  in  a 
strong  iron  ring.     Then  he  went  out  and  in- 
vested in  two  hundred  and  fifty  toy  balloons — 
thus  adding  over  an  hundred  for  requirements 
and  contingencies.    He  bought,  also,  a  stout 
piece  of  clothesline,  fifty  feet  long,  and  a  thick 
cord  two  hundred  feet  long,  which  would,  if 
required,  sustain  the  weight  of  a  man.    The 
next  afternoon  he  attached  the  balloons  to  the 
clothesline,  not  all  in  a  bunch,  but  at  intervals, 


312  THE  CASSOWARY 

that  in  the  event  of  an  accident  to  one,  another 
would  not  be  affected.  At  the  lower  end  of  the 
clothesline  was  a  strong  steel  snap. 

At  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when 
he  knew  Mrs.  Johnson  was  to  be  absent  in  town, 
Evan  hired  a  covered  express-wagon,  in  which 
he  imprisoned  his  balloons  and  was  driven  near 
the  Johnson's  place.  A  block  or  two  away  from 
there,  he  dismissed  the  driver  and  wagon  and 
went  on  alone,  the  balloons  tugging  at  him 
fiercely  as  he  walked.  He  saw  little  Gabriel 
playing  in  the  yard,  as  usual,  and  called  to  him. 
The  youth  came  running  out  and  shouted  in 
childish  glee  when  he  saw  the  mountain  of  red 
balloons. 

"Would  you  like  to  take  a  ride,  Gabriel?" 
asked  Evan  kindly. 

"Yep,  Yep !"  cried  Gabriel.     "Gimme  a  ride." 

Evan  carefully  and  securely  adjusted  the 
harness  upon  the  youngster  and  then  snapped 
the  contrivance  at  the  end  of  the  clothes-line 
into  the  ring  above  the  boy's  head.  He  tied  one 
end  of  his  two  hundred  feet  of  cord  firmly  to 
the  same  ring.  Holding  on  to  the  cord,  he 
eased  up  gently  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  Gabriel  lifted  from  his  feet. 

At  the  height  of  thirty  feet  little  Gabriel 


EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP  313 

emitted  a  sudden  bawl  such  as  a  four  year-old 
probably  never  gave  before;  at  fifty  feet  his 
screams  were  something  startling  and  when, 
at  last,  he  hung  dangling  two  hundred  feet 
above,  the  string  of  balloons  rising  fifty  feet 
higher  still,  the  volume  and  loudness  of  his 
shrieking  seemed  scarce  diminished  by  the 
distance.  He  swung  and  swayed  far  away  up 
there  a  wonderful  kicking  object,  the  string 
of  balloons  uplifting  above  him  like  a  pillar 
of  fire,  the  whole  forming  a  wonderful  vision 
against  the  sky.  Evan  calmly  tied  the  end  of 
the  cord  to  the  hitching  staple  in  the  horse- 
block, then  sat  down  upon  the  block  and  drew 
out  and  opened  his  pocket  knife. 

The  front  door  of  the  house  suddenly  flew 
open  and  a  hysterical  young  woman  reached 
Evan's  side  in  the  fraction  of  an  instant.  She 
looked  upwards  and  shrieked  out: 

"Oh!  Oh!  What  are  you  doing  with  little 
Gabriel!  He'll  be  killed !  Oh!  he'll  he  killed!" 

"No  he  won't,"  answered  Evan,  quietly, 
"I  can  pull  him  down  at  any  time.  He'll  stay 
where  he  is — that  is  unless  I  cut  this  cord,"  he 
added  reflectively,  as  he  held  the  blade  of  his 
knife  against  it.  "Salome,  will  you  marry  me 


314  THE  CASSOWARY 

and  fix  the  date  for  the  ceremony  now?  If 
you  won't  promise,  I'll  cut  the  cord !" 

"Oh,  you  brute!  Oh,  you  murderer!  I'll 
never —  Oh — ' 

"I  tell  you  he's  all  right,"  explained  Evan. 
"Promise  when  we'll  be  married,  and  I'll  pull 
him  down." 

The  girl  but  shrieked  the  louder  and,  sinking 
down,  clung  pleadingly  to  his  knees. 

"Save  him!"  she  cried.  "He'll  be  killed! 
Oh,  poor  little  Gabriel!" 

"I  tell  you  he  won't  be  killed!  Little 
Gabriel  has  only  gone  aloft,  to  be  nearer  his 
namesake.  He's  almost  up  to  where  'the 
cherubim  and  seraphim  continually  do  sing.' 
Don't  you  hear  him  singing  himself,  already? 
Will  you  fix  the  date  or  shall  I  cut  the  cord?" 

The  girl  was  getting  calmer,  though  quivering 
all  over.  She  only  sobbed  now;  "He'll  be 
killed!  He'll  be  killed!  Oh  my  poor  little 
Gabriel!" 

"I  tell  you  he  will  not,"  reiterated  Evan. 
"I  don't  believe  he  will  be  killed  even  when  I 
cut  the  string.  He  will  alight  gently  somewhere, 
as  the  gas  in  the  balloons  gradually  exudes,  and 
somebody  will  take  care  of  him.  It  may  not 


EVAN  CUMMINGS'  COURTSHIP  315 

be  in  this  county,  but  he  will  alight.  When 
will  you  marry  me?" 

The  young  woman  did  not  answer. 

"Salome,"  said  Evan,  now  pleadingly.  "You 
know  that  you  love  me  and  that  I  love  you. 
Why  not  stop  all  this  dalliance  and  coquetting? 
you  know  you  are  going  to  be  my  wife.  Will 
you  not  make  it  all  definite?" 

Salome  looked  up  into  her  lover's  eyes,  then 
bowed  her  head.  Finally  she  looked  up  again 
and  sobbed  out: 

"Y-e-s,  only  pull  down  little  Gabriel." 

"When  shall  the  wedding  be?  WiU  the 
twentieth  of  next  month  do?" 

"Y-e-s." 

Evan  closed  his  pocket  knife.  Then  taking 
hold  of  the  cord  he  began  pulling  little  Gabriel 
down.  As  that  youth,  still  loudly  bellowing, 
reached  the  ground,  Salome  caught  him  up  and 
darted  into  the  house  with  him.  Evan  paid 
slight  attention  to  people  who  came  running 
to  see  what  the  red  thing  aloft  had  been.  He 
said  only  that  he  had  been  trying  an  experi- 
ment. Then  he  gathered  up  the  balloons  and 
carried  them  into  the  woodshed,  where  they  rose 
in  a  mass  to  the  roof  and  stayed  there.  Then 
he  went  into  the  house  and  had  a  talk  with  the 


316  THE  CASSOWARY 

indignant  Salome.  It  was  an  exciting  session, 
but  it  ended  peaceably. 

Well,  she  married  him,  as  she  had  promised, 
for  honesty  was  among  her  virtues.  She  looks 
upon  her  husband  as  a  desperate  character  and, 
so,  is  in  love  with  him,  of  course. 

I'm  not  surprised  at  the  whole  business.  It 
was  Evan  all  over. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON 

The  fact  as  was  learned  early  in  the  morning, 
that  there  must  elapse  one  more  day  before 
relief  came,  was,  it  must  be  feared,  absolutely 
a  relief  to  Colonel  Livingstone  When  Stafford 
told  him  the  situation  he  beamed.  He  was 
certainly  at  his  best.  He  called  upon  the  Man 
From  Nowhere. 

The  title  of  The  Man  From  Nowhere  had  been 
bestowed  upon  a  quiet  and  dignified  gentleman 
who  but  smiled  and  listened  all  the  time,  but 
had  said  very  little.  During  the  first  stress 
of  the  imprisonment,  he  had  been  one  of  the 
most  energetic  and  helpful  among  those  of  the 
passengers  who  had  shown  the  quality  of  facing 
a  situation.  He  had  exerted  himself  to  some 
purpose  from  the  beginning  and  had  assisted 
in  making  more  or  less  comfortable  those  who 
did  not  seem  capable  of  taking  care  of  them- 
selves. He  had  been  given  the  title  of  "The 
Man  From  Nowhere,"  because  he  had  declared 
that  he  really  had  no  home  but  was  a  wanderer 

317 


318  THE  CASSOWARY 

for  pleasure,  with  no  fixed  place  of  abode.  He 
was  a  man  of  about  sixty  years  of  age,  grey- 
mustached  and  affable.  Now,  as  he  came  for- 
ward, with  an  apparent  degree  of  awakened 
interest  in  what  was  going  on,  he  was  received 
with  applause.  It  was  the  Colonel,  as  usual, 
who  expressed  himself: 

"Glad  to  see  you  aroused,  sir.  Are  you,  too, 
going  to  favor  us  with  a  story?" 

The  Man  From  Nowhere  laughed :  "It's  hardly 
a  story,"  he  said,  "but,  in  listening  to  the  brief 
discussion  as  to  the  degree  in  which  we  are 
appreciated  hi  this  world,  I  was  involuntarily 
reminded  of  the  bitter  experience  of  a  young 
friend  or  rather  of  five  young  friends  of  mine. 
They  were  not  appreciated,  and  took  steps 
accordingly.  What  they  did  was  merely  to 
segregate  themselves.  You  will  readily  per- 
ceive that  by  segregating  yourself  you  may 
avoid  all  the  annoyance  of  non-appreciation. 
That  the  experiment  did  not,  in  this  instance, 
result  at  once  in  a  permanent  remedy  for  all 
oppressive  circumstances  was,  I  think,  due,  not 
to  any  lack  of  proper  conception  in  the  minds 
of  my  young  friends,  but  rather  to  then-  inex- 
perience in  certain  matters  of  detail.  In  some 
of  its  aspects  it  was  a  sad  affair,  but  I  will 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          319 

relate  the  whole  thing  to  you  just  as  it  was 
told  me  by  the  principal  actor.  It  is  but  the 
simple  story  of 

THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON 

When  I  look  back  across  the  years — I  am 
nearly  thirteen  now — the  vision  which  arises 
of  trying  adventure  with  my  sister  and  three 
brothers  seems  like  what  I  have  seen  somewhere 
alluded  to  as  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream,  or, 
if  not  that,  at  least  some  freak  of  the  waking 
imagination.  Yet  certain  it  is  that  the  five  of 
us,  John,  Mary,  Francis,  Herbert  and  Elwyn 
Robertson,  aged  respectively  eleven,  nine,  eight 
and  six  years — Herbert  and  Elwyn  being  twins 
— had  such  strange  experiences  in  a  strange 
land  as  can  never  be  forgotten  by  any  of  us. 
Hard  indeed  to  undergo  were  some  of  our  vicis- 
situdes, and  always  thankful  am  I,  when  the 
memory  of  that  time  returns,  that  my  greater 
age  and  possibly  greater  force  of  character 
enabled  me  to  become  guide  and  mentor  when 
certainly  a  counselor  was  needed. 

Strangely  enough,  all  our  adventures  were 
the  indirect  result  of  an  earnest  perusal  of  a 
most  fascinating  volume  entitled  The  Swiss 
Family  Robinson,  in  which  was  related  the  story 


320  THE  CASSOWARY 

of  a  family  named  Robinson,  cast  away  upon 
a  lone  island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  family 
was  a  remarkable  one,  and  the  character  of  the 
father  I  admired  especially.  Not  only  was  he 
a  man  of  extended  general  information,  but  one 
who  regarded  thoughtfully  the  circumstance 
that  almost  any  condition  may  be  improved 
by  the  diligent,  and  who  was  truly  grateful 
for  something  hi  every  chapter  of  the  book. 
The  mother  and  children  each  displayed  traits 
almost  as  admirable.  The  island,  too,  was  as 
remarkable  as  the  family,  since,  though  it  was 
but  a  small  place,  the  castaways  were  fortunate 
enough  to  discover  almost  every  useful  plant, 
bird  and  beast  known  to  the  torrid,  temperate 
or  frigid  zones.  Taken  altogether,  the  tale  was 
such  as  to  arouse  a  spirit  of  something  nearly 
akin  to  envy  in  the  minds  of  all  of  us  save  the 
twins,  who  were,  of  course,  too  young  to  under- 
stand. It  was  no  wonder,  since  our  great- 
great-grandfather  on  our  mother's  side  was  said 
to  have  come  from  Switzerland,  that  the  three 
oldest  of  us  called  ourselves  the  Swiss  Family 
Robertson  and  imagined  many  things.  There 
came  a  time  when  the  fancy  became  a  grave 
reality,  even  to  the  twins. 
It  is  with  no  little  feeling  and  hesitation  that 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          321 

I  approach  any  allusion  to  the  causes  which  led 
to  the  practical  expatriation  of  five  people — 
in  the  prime  of  youth,  it  is  true,  but  inexperi- 
enced— and  their  subjection  to  a  manner  of 
existence  such  as  they  had  never  imagined  could 
be  real.  Even  now  the  matter  so  affects  me 
that  I  must  be  pardoned  by  the  reader  for  not 
relating  the  unpleasant  details.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  occasions  arose  when  the  views  of  our 
parents  unhappily  failed  to  coincide  with  those 
of  Mary,  Francis  and  myself,  and  that  our 
conduct  was  held,  by  those  who  had  the  power, 
to  merit  corporal  punishment,  a  punishment 
which,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me,  was  inflicted 
with  far  more  vehemence  than  any  possible 
occasion  could  demand.  Our  spirits  revolted 
at  what  occurred,  and  the  three  of  us,  who,  as 
explained,  had  just  finished  reading  The  Swiss 
Family  Robinson,  held  inflamed  but  deliberate 
counsel  together  and  determined  resolutely 
upon  a  course  which  should  give  us  liberty  of 
conscience  and  of  action.  I  admit  frankly 
that,  being  of  a  self-respecting  disposition, 
and  it  may  be  to  an  extent  a  natural  leader,  I 
was  foremost  in  these  councils  and  mapped  out 
the  general  plan  of  action.  Increasing  years 
have  given  me  more  philosophy  and  taken 


322  THE  CASSOWARY 

from  my  impulsiveness,  but  at  that  time  I  did 
not  hesitate.  In  short,  under  my  inspiration 
we  resolved  to  seek  a  more  congenial  clime, 
where,  if  we  did  not  luxuriate  in  all  the  so- 
called  advantages  of  a  super-refined  civilization, 
we  should  at  least  have  the  more  quiet  and 
assured  happiness  which  obtains  where  Nature 
is  primeval.  Our  resolution  became  fixed. 
That  Herbert  and  Elwyn,  the  twins,  became  of 
the  emigrating  party  was  but  an  incident,  they 
having  discovered  our  plans  for  departure  and 
insisting  upon  accompanying  us.  Their  wish 
was  reluctantly  granted  lest  the  clamor  they 
would  inevitably  raise  in  the  event  of  a  refusal 
should  reveal  our  plans. 

Not  only  were  we  determined  upon  the  new 
life,  but  we  resolved  to  isolate  ourselves  so  com- 
pletely from  the  unpleasant  recent  past  as  even 
to  change  our  names,  it  being  decided  that  each 
should  select  a  new  one  for  himself  or  herself. 
As  for  me,  having  lately  read  a  story  of  the 
Norsemen,  I  selected  the  name  of  Wolfgang; 
Mary  chose  that  of  Abyssinia,  and  Francis,  for 
what  reason  I  cannot  imagine,  adopted  that  of 
Chickum.  The  naming  of  Herbert  and  Elwyn 
was  left  to  Abyssinia,  who,  after  looking  over  a 


323 

newspaper,  called  one  Krag  and  the  other  Jor- 
gensen.  Then  began  in  earnest  our  preparations 
for  departure. 

It  was,  of  course,  necessary,  as  I  endeavored 
to  impress  upon  my  fellows — if  Abyssinia  may 
be  included  in  such  a  term — to  observe  the 
utmost  secrecy  and  discretion  in  all  our  move- 
ments. This  injunction  was  observed  faith- 
fully by  all  save  Krag  and  Jorgensen,  whose 
course  was  frequently  such  as  might,  I  feared, 
attract  the  attention  of  our  parents.  Fortu- 
nately they  appeared  all  unknowing  of  our 
designs. 

The  first  thing  to  be  accomplished  was  the 
getting  together  and  bestowal  in  a  safe  place 
of  such  stores  as  we  could  carry  away  and  as 
would  be  most  serviceable  to  us  in  an  unin- 
habited and  possibly  barren  region.  In  this 
difficult  task  Abyssinia,  Chickum  and  I  shared 
about  equally.  The  place  of  concealment  finally 
decided  upon  was  a  small  shed  which  had 
formerly  been  a  henhouse,  and  which  stood 
against  a  board  fence  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
kitchen  garden.  Here,  beneath  a  heap  of  straw, 
we  concealed  our  accumulations.  I  pondered 
deeply  over  what  the  nature  of  our  stores  should 


324  THE  CASSOWARY 

be,  and  I  trust  I  may  say,  with  a  pride  not 
altogether  unbecoming,  that  my  selections  were 
justified  by  the  result.  Slowly  but  surely  the 
material  accumulated  until  there  came  a  time 
when  we  felt  that  we  were  fairly  equipped  for 
our  departure.  It  was  just  after  the  beginning 
of  July,  and  the  weather  was  sultry,  but,  with 
an  eye  for  the  future,  Abyssinia  secured  from 
the  extra  household  supplies  four  quilts,  five 
large  sheets  and  six  jars  of  raspberry  and  straw- 
berry jam.  She  contributed  also  a  bag  of  salt, 
pepper,  some  old  knives  and  forks,  half  a  dozen 
tin  plates  and  as  many  tin  cups,  a  breadpan, 
a  frying-pan  with  a  broken  handle,  and  two  tin 
pails.  I  added  a  light  but  excellent  ax,  several 
boxes  of  matches,  a  great  ball  of  stout  cord,  an 
enormous  slab  of  dried  beef,  two  boxes  of  crack- 
ers, a  box  of  candles,  some  large  potatoes,  an 
old  carving-knife,  some  fishhooks,  a  steel  trap, 
and  at  least  half  a  barrel  of  flour  in  bags  not 
too  large  to  be  carried  by  Chickum  or  me. 
Chickum  brought  two  jars  of  butter,  another  ax, 
and  his  bow  and  arrow.  Of  course  we  had  our 
pocket-knives,  and  Abyssinia  had  needles  and 
strong  thread.  The  hour  came  when  we  only 
awaited  an  auspicious  occasion  for  departure. 
It  had  become  apparent  that  not  a  third  of 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          325 

our  stores  could  be  removed  in  a  single  journey, 
and,  after  considering  the  matter  most  thought- 
fully, I  resolved  that  the  only  wise  course  was 
to  determine  upon  the  site  for  pur  new  home, 
complete  it,  and  to  it  carry  our  goods  from  time 
to  time.  Upon  Chickum  and  me  must  neces- 
sarily fall  the  burden  of  this  initial  labor,  and 
we  set  about  it  at  once.  Our  homestead  sloped 
from  the  roadway  to  the  north  and  was  bounded 
in  that  direction  by  a  grassy  expanse  through 
which  flowed  a  small  creek,  crossed  by  a  plank. 
The  creek  separated  this  green  area  from  a  wild 
and  comparatively  deserted  region  known  as 
the  Wooded  Pasture.  Some  hundreds  of  yards 
distant  from  the  creek  rose  an  extremely  wide 
and  dense  growth  of  willows,  and  in  the  midst 
of  this  miniature  forest,  as  we  had  at  one  time 
discovered,  was  a  small  open  space,  dry  and 
bare  of  growth.  Here,  after  new  exploration 
in  company  with  Chickum,  I  decided  should 
be  established  our  tranquil  home.  The  site  was 
not  discernible  from  the  home  of  our  parents, 
nor  indeed  from  any  part  of  the  place  we  were 
leaving  except  from  an  elevated  point  in  a 
meadow  to  the  west,  and  even  from  this  station 
the  view  was  indistinct. 
We  bided  our  time  impatiently  now;  but 


326  THE  CASSOWARY 

we  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  A  day  came 
when  our  parents  were  away  upon  a  visit,  the 
hired  girl  was  occupied  in-doors,  and  the  hired 
man  busy  in  the  cornfield  where  the  dense 
growth  of  the  valued  cereal  prevented  him  from 
seeing  us  or  being  seen.  Quietly  Chickum  and 
I  departed,  burdened  with  the  quilts,  sheets, 
our  axes,  and  the  ball  of  twine.  Our  journey 
to  the  willows  was  uneventful  and  our  labors 
there  were  unmolested. 

The  plan  of  our  shelter  had  already  been 
designed  by  me,  and  we  lost  no  time  in  trivial 
debating  over  details,  Chickum  submitting  with- 
out question  to  each  suggestion  of  the  stronger 
mind.  Under  my  direction  we  cut  down  eight 
small  willows  as  straight  as  we  could  find,  and 
cut  from  each  a  length  of  nearly  six  feet,  four 
of  which  we  sharpened  at  one  end.  These,  one 
of  us  standing  upon  a  dead  uprooted  stump 
which  we  rolled  about,  we  drove  into  the  earth 
at  distances  of  six  feet  apart,  the  stakes,  rising 
some  five  feet,  forming  the  four  corners  of  a 
square.  The  remaining  four  poles  we  tied  firmly 
so  that  they  extended  from  the  top  of  one  stake 
to  another,  and  upon  the  frame  so  constructed 
we  stretched  one  of  the  sheets,  cutting  holes 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          327 

close  to  the  hems  and  through  them  tying  the 
sheet  to  the  cross-pieces.  Our  dwelling  was 
now  roofed.  The  four  remaining  sheets,  simi- 
larly tied,  made  the  four  sides  of  the  structure, 
one  being  left  partly  unattached  so  that  it 
might  be  lifted,  thus  serving  for  a  door.  Upon 
the  grassy  floor  of  the  house  one  of  the  quilts 
was  spread,  and  there  was  our  Tented  Home! 
Chickum  was  wild  with  delight  and  capered 
about  hilariously,  but  I  reminded  him  that  the 
time  for  an  exhibition  of  such  exuberance  of 
spirit  had  not  arrived.  Much  yet  remained  to 
be  accomplished.  Days  passed  before  all  our 
stores  were,  with  exercise  of  the  greatest  caution, 
safely  bestowed  within  the  tent. 

It  was  six  o'clock  one  pleasant  evening,  when 
we  had  just  finished  dinner,  that  our  parents 
again  absented  themselves  to  make  a  call  upon 
a  neighbor.  Our  time  had  come.  Quietly  all 
of  us,  including  Abyssinia  and  the  twins,  slipped 
down  through  the  kitchen  garden,  across  the 
creek,  across  a  part  of  the  Wooded  Pasture 
and  into  the  Willow  Grove.  There  was  what 
I  may  call  a  certain  tremulousness,  but  no  fal- 
tering. We  reached  our  place  of  refuge.  " Wel- 
come to  this  sylvan  grove!"  shouted  Chickum 
— quoting,  I  firmly  believe,  something  he  had 


328  THE  CASSOWARY 

read  in  a  story,  for  Chickum's  ordinary  mode 
of  expression  was  not  such  as  I  could  in  many 
respect  desire — and  all  entered  the  tent  and 
made  themselves  at  home.  Here  were  peace 
and  happiness  at  last !  We  chatted  and  planned 
until  darkness  fell,  and  then,  digging  a  hole 
with  my  knife  into  a  potato,  I  inserted  one  of 
the  candles  we  had  brought  and  found  the  place 
illuminated  finely.  But  we  did  not  remain  long 
awake.  It  had  been  a  season  of  labor  and 
excitement,  and  a  sense  of  drowsiness  soon 
overcame  us  all. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  I  was  aroused 
by  an  exclamation  from  Abyssinia  and  the 
sobbing  of  the  twins.  "What  is  it?"  whispered 
Abyssinia,  and  as  she  spoke  there  came  a 
strange,  gulping  cry  from  a  marshy  strip  beside 
the  creek,  and  then,  nearer  us,  one  more  musi- 
cal but  quite  as  mournful.  The  creatures  of  the 
night  were  calling.  From  my  wider  experience 
I  recognized  their  harmlessness ;  I  knew  the 
voices  of  the  bullfrog  and  the  whippoorwill,  but 
with  the  others  it  was  different.  Though  my 
rest  had  been  disturbed,  I  could  not  but  explain 
all  graciously,  and  soon  the  three  were  sleeping 
again,  though  fitfully.  As  for  Chickum,  he  had 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          329 

not  awakened.  When  we  awoke,  morning  had 
come  and  the  birds  were  chirping  all  about  us. 
We  ate  heartily  of  jam  and  crackers,  and  felt 
the  blood  coursing  in  our  respective  veins  as 
it  had  never  done  before.  How  glorious  the 
sense  of  freedom! 

How  unstable,  too,  are  sometimes  the  happiest 
of  conditions !  Little  did  I  imagine  that  bright 
morning  as  I  noted  idly  the  performance  of  a 
red-hooded  woodpecker,  Melanerpes  erythro- 
cephalus,  who  was  eating  a  long  white  grub  hi 
sections,  little,  I  reiterate,  did  I  imagine  that 
before  nightfall  all  our  hopeful  plans  would  be 
disarranged,  and  that,  like  some  weakling  tribe 
compelled  ever  to  flee  before  an  encroaching 
power,  we  must  decide,  in  self-protection,  to 
risk  all  the  dangers  of  a  wilder  home. 

It  was  noon  when,  looking  to  the  southwest, 
I  perceived  far  in  the  distance  our  hired  man 
working  about  a  stump  on  the  elevated  spot 
in  the  meadow  from  which  could  be  obtained 
the  only  glimpse  of  our  white  home  amid  the 
greenery.  I  have  not,  I  hope,  one  of  those 
minds  ever  open  to  suspicion,  but  I  may  say 
that  it  is  one  somewhat  more  than  ordinarily 
keen  hi  the  formation  of  deductions.  Why 
was  the  hired  man  there,  chopping  about  a  huge 


330  THE  CASSOWARY 

stump  which  he  could  not  possibly  remove 
unaided?  Were  we  discovered?  Could  the 
man  have  been  placed  there  to  exercise  a  dis- 
tant surveillance  over  us?  The  idea  grew 
upon  me,  and  an  apprehension  I  could  scarce 
explain — an  apprehension  shared  by  Abys- 
sinia and  Chickum,  with  whom  I  at  once  con- 
sulted. Under  the  circumstances,  with  me  to 
think  was  but  to  act.  "Come,"  I  said  to 
Chickum,  "there  is  but  one  course  to  pursue. 
We  must  face  the  issue  as  courageously  as  we 
can.  Abyssinia  and  the  twins  will  remain  here 
while  you  and  I  must  venture  farther  in  search 
of  a  place  where,  no  matter  what  may  surround 
us,  our  isolation  will  be  complete."  To  this 
even  the  sometimes  thoughtless  Chickum  as- 
sented promptly.  "I  am  ready,  brother,"  was 
his  answer.  "Let  us  start  at  once." 

Little  preparation  was  required.  We  pro- 
vided ourselves  with  crackers  and  dried  beef 
and  set  forth  immediately,  I  carrying  one  of  the 
axes  and  -Chickum  arming  himself  with  the 
carving  knife. 

The  country  for  quite  a  distance,  as  we  found, 
was  partly  bare,  though  there  were  occasional 
small  oaks  and  tangles  of  hazel  and  blackberry 
bushes.  As  we  advanced,  though,  the  trees 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          331 

became  taller  and  grew  more  closely  together, 
and  finally,  as  we  ascended  a  gradually  sloping 
ridge,  we  found  ourselves  in  what  must  have 
been  almost  the  forest  primeval.  We  knew  not 
what  we  should  discover.  The  shadows  were 
deep,  and  the  wind  made  a  constant  sighing 
overhead.  Descending  the  ridge  upon  the  other 
side,  and  pursuing  our  course  far  to  the  north- 
west, we  emerged  at  last  upon  a  small  open 
glade  through  which  tumbled  a  noisy  creek  and 
near  the  centre  of  which  grew  a  few  small  elms, 
four  of  them,  as  I  noted,  forming  the  angles  of  a 
square.  We  advanced  and  looked  about  us. 
From  the  glade  there  was  an  opening  in  but 
one  direction,  to  the  northeast,  through  which 
could  be  seen  far  away  part  of  a  hillside  field. 
My  heart  beat  fast.  I  recognized  the  advan- 
tages of  the  site  at  a  single  glance.  "Here,"  I 
said,  "shall  be  our  home!" 

Chickum  assented  gladly  and  we  took  up 
our  long  homeward  march,  reaching  the  tent  in 
time  for  the  evening  meal.  We  were  informed 
by  Abyssinia  that  the  day  had  been  uneventful 
save  that  Krag  had  stooped  too  closely  in  exam- 
ination of  a  bumblebee  upon  a  clover  blossom. 
One  of  his  eyes  was  closed,  but  he  appeared  in 
his  usual  spirits.  I  have  ever  admired  the 


332  THE  CASSOWARY 

wonderful  recuperative  powers  of  youth.  Abys- 
sinia told  us,  also,  that  the  twins  had  devoured 
one  entire  pot  of  our  limited  supply  of  jam. 

For  two  days  Chickum  and  I  labored  in  the 
distant  forest  upon  the  erection  of  our  new  and 
more  substantial  home.  Sheets  would  no  longer 
suffice  for  roof  and  walls.  We  cut  strong  cross- 
poles  and  tied  them  from  tree  to  tree,  and, 
finding  great  heaps  of  hemlock  bark  cut  for  the 
tanneries  in  a  small  abandoned  clearing  some 
distance  from  our  glade,  we  brought  all  that  we 
required  of  the  great  slabs  and,  leaning  them 
against  our  cross-poles,  made  sides  to  the 
dwelling  which  promised  to  be  wind  and  rain 
proof.  The  roof  was  constructed  of  the  same 
material.  We  now  had  a  home  solid  and  roomy 
and  offering  pleasant  contrast  to  the  frail  tent 
amid  the  willows.  Laboriously  our  stores  were 
carried  in  repeated  journeys  over  the  long  route, 
and  three  days  later  all  of  our  little  company 
were  contentedly  at  home  in  Hemlock  Castle, 
a  name  suggested  by  Abyssinia,  who  declared 
that,  like  the  people  on  the  Pacific  island,  we 
should  certainly  have  names  for  the  objects 
and  localities  about  us.  The  open  space  in  the 
forest  was  christened  Haven  Glade,  the  creek 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          333 

received  the  title  of  Skelter  Walter,  and  the 
deep,  wooded  land  about  us  was  known  as 
Darkland. 

We  were  now  most  happily  established.  Our 
only  possible  anxiety,  and  that  as  yet  a  light 
one,  related  to  our  food  supply,  which  was  grad- 
ually diminishing.  But  we  had  plenty  of  flour, 
and  Abyssinia  now  began  making  bread. 

Thoughtful  and  far-seeing  as  I  had  proved 
myself  in  the  earlier  preparations  for  our  flight, 
I  had  forgotten  one  thing.  I  shall  never  cease 
to  reproach  myself  with  not  having  requested 
Abyssinia,  while  we  were  still  under  the  domin- 
ion of  our  parents,  to  ingratiate  herself  with  the 
hired  girl  and  acquire  at  least  some  rudimentary 
idea  of  the  art  of  breadmaking.  As  it  now 
appeared,  she  was,  though  hopeful,  absolutely 
unacquainted  with  the  manner  of  preparation 
of  this  so  generally  popular  article  of  food.  We 
elders  held  a  council  on  the  subject  and  each 
expressed  an  idea.  Abyssinia  thought  that  to 
merely  mix  some  of  the  flour  with  water  and 
then  put  the  dough  in  the  frying-pan  was  all 
that  was  required  for  bread.  Chickum  asserted 
that  he  had  seen  the  hired  girl  mix  a  little  salt 
in  the  dough  I,  personally,  was  confident  that 
butter  was  added.  It  was  resolved  to  experi- 


334  THE  CASSOWARY 

ment  on  a  small  scale,  and  Abyssinia  took  up 
her  household  duties,  I  must  admit,  with  brav- 
ery. 

Some  of  the  flour  was  mixed  with  water  and 
salt  and  a  little  butter  and  put  into  the  hot 
frying-pan.  It  soon  browned  upon  one  side 
and  was  then  turned  over  with  some  difficul- 
ty because  of  its  extraordinary  adhesiveness. 
When  finally  extracted  it  resembled  nothing  I 
had  ever  seen  before,  but  was  certainly  baked. 
It  was  buttered  and  we  all  ate.  The  food  was 
tenacious  in  quality  and  its  flavor  proved  exceed- 
ingly novel  to  us.  Chickum,  later,  complained 
of  pain.  But  we  had  no  other  bread,  and  after 
I  had  reasoned  calmly  with  all  upon  the  merit 
of  resignation,  we  accepted  the  situation  daily. 
What  a  wonderful  organ  is  the  human  stomach! 

I  am  not  exaggerating  when  I  relate  that  the 
days  now  passed  with  blitheness.  To  our  food 
was  added  an  almost  unlimited  supply  of  wild 
gooseberries  and  blackberries,  and  the  man- 
drake apples  were  ripening.  There  were  deep 
pools  in  Skelter  Water,  and  there,  with  the 
hooks  my  foresight  had  provided,  we  caught 
many  of  the  fish  known  as  the  common  bull- 
head, which  we  wrapped  in  clay  and  cast  into 
the  open  fire.  When  the  clay  appeared  well 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON         335 

hardened,  we  drew  it  from  the  fire,  cracked  it 
open,  and  therein  found  the  fish,  cooked  to  a 
turn,  and  even  a  delicacy  when  eaten  with 
butter  and  pepper  and  salt.  How  inevitably 
does  intelligence,  when  in  stress,  arise  to  the 
demands  of  circumstance! 

One  day  Abyssinia  came  running  in,  jubilant- 
ly crying:  "Bees!  Bees!  I've  found  a  hive  of 
wild  bees!  Let  us  tame  them,  as  the  people 
did  on  the  island,  and  so  have  all  the  honey  we 
can  eat!" 

This  assuredly  was  glorious  news,  and  we 
all  accompanied  Abyssinia  to  the  scene  of  her 
discovery.  There  were  the  bees  and  their  home. 
Suspended  from  the  swaying  end  of  a  beech 
bough,  hanging  so  low  that  it  was  only  four  or 
five  feet  from  the  ground,  appeared  a  great  oval 
object  which  looked  as  made  of  grayish  paper. 
There  were  orifices  in  the  bottom  about  which 
the  insects  were  humming  in  great  numbers. 
They  seemed  somewhat  longer  than  domesti- 
cated bees,  and  had  yellowish  rings  around 
their  bodies,  the  difference  in  appearance  from 
the  ordinary  honey-gatherer  being,  I  assumed, 
due  to  their  environment  and  different  mode 
of  life.  I  at  once  resolved  to  secure  the  hive 
and  bring  it  to  Haven  Glade,  where  it  would 


336  THE  CASSOWARY 

afford  a  most  desirable  addition  to  our  daily 
fare.  I  determined  that  the  only  way  to  ac- 
complish this  was  to  come  at  night  when  the 
bees  were  at  rest,  cut  off  the  limb  above  the 
hive,  and  so  carry  it  to  our  home.  This  was 
easily  accomplished.  The  end  of  the  limb 
where  it  had  been  cut  away  was  inserted  in 
a  hole  made  through  the  bark  of  our  rear  wall, 
and  there,  on  the  outside,  hung  the  hive  for 
the  honey-making. 

Some  days  passed  and  the  bees  appeared 
to  be  working  industriously,  no  one  going  very 
near  the  suspended  hive  lest  they  be  disturbed. 
It  chanced,  however,  that  we  had  one  morning 
an  exceedingly  early  breakfast,  and  Chickum, 
who  always  had  a  taste  for  sweets,  suggested 
that,  as  the  bees  were  not  yet  astir,  he  go  out, 
cut  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  hive  and  secure  a 
lump  of  comb  for  our  delectation.  Impelled 
by  curiosity,  I  followed,  observing  Chickum's 
operations  from  a  distance.  Chickum,  using  a 
pocket  knife,  cut  around  a  piece  about  six 
inches  square  from  the  side  of  the  queer  hive, 
then  removed  to  look  within  for  the  honey. 
Never  shall  I  forget  what  then  occurred  im- 
mediately. How  remarkable  are  some  of  the 
traits  of  the  insect  world!  From  the  opening 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          337 

that  Chickum  had  made  there  burst,  fairly  in 
his  face,  a  whirling,  venomously  buzzing  cloud 
of  the  great  bees.  He  leaped  backward  and  fled 
along  the  creek.  Very  fleet  of  foot  has  Chickum 
always  been,  and  I  have  never  felt  it  humilia- 
ting to  be  defeated  by  him  in  our  friendly 
races,  but  never  before  had  I  seen  accomplished, 
even  by  him,  such  an  amazing  burst  of  speed. 
His  career,  so  far  as  I  may  infer  from  pictures 
I  have  seen,  resembled  that  of  the  antelope 
of  the  arid  wastes,  but  the  bees  kept  pace 
with  him.  With  each  leap  Chickum  gave  vent 
to  the  remarkable  cry  of  "Hep!  Hep!"  At 
first  I  thought  him  shouting  instinctively  for 
help,  but  it  was  not  that;  it  was,  I  have  since 
concluded,  but  a  spasmodic  exclamation,  the 
result  of  his  alarm  and  pain  and  of  his  violent 
physical  exertion.  I  followed,  first  calling  to 
Abyssinia  to  bring  the  twins  from  the  house, 
for  I  knew  the  flight  must  be  a  brief  one.  Sud- 
denly, Chickum,  in  his  desperation,  plunged 
into  one  of  the  pools  of  the  creek  and  sank 
down  until  only  his  nose  was  visible.  That 
organ,  as  I  could  see,  received  at  once  most 
violent  attention  from  the  hovering  pursuers, 
but  by  splashing  water  Chickum  finally  drove 
the  bees  away  and  they  returned  scatteringly 


338  THE  CASSOWARY 

to  their  desecrated  home.  When  Chickum 
emerged  from  the  creek  his  appearance  was 
such  that  had  I  not  been  witness  to  the  trans- 
formation I  could  scarcely  have  identified  him. 
Each  eye  was  closed  so  that,  as  he  walked,  he 
was  compelled  to  hold  the  lids  of  one  apart 
with  thumb  and  finger,  and  his  nose,  but  for 
its  hue,  resembled  some  monster  puff-ball  of 
the  fields. 

That  day  our  forest  home  was  temporarily 
abandoned,  and  when  night  came  I  removed  the 
hive  with  the  utmost  care  a  long  distance  into 
the  forest.  Days  later  I  found  it  abandoned  and, 
examining  it,  found  breeding  cells,  but  not  a 
trace  of  honey.  I  recognized  at  once  and,  as  is 
always  my  way,  admitted  to  myself  that  I  had 
erred.  The  hive  was  not  that  of  the  wild  honey 
bee,  Apis  mellifica,  but  of  the  aggressive  tree 
wasp,  Vespidce.  I  could  not  understand  why  I 
had  been  so  mistaken.  I  had  been  most  care- 
fully instructed  in  natural  history,  and  Miss 
Clitherose,  my  teacher  for  several  terms,  had 
been  kind  enough  to  speak  of  my  remarkable 
aptitude  in  that  direction.  I  had  acquired  not 
only  the  common  but  many  of  the  Latin  names 
of  the  soulless  creatures,  and,  indeed,  rather 
preferred  the  Latin.  I  well  remember  the  day 


"A  DOZEN  OR  MORE  NESTS  WERE  FOUND" 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          339 

when  I  puzzled  even  Miss  Clitherose,  who  prided 
herself  somewhat  on  her  acquirements.  I  asked 
her  to  give  me  the  old  Latin  names  for  turkey 
and  potato  and  she  failed  in  the  attempt.  Little 
did  she  comprehend  how  I  had  reasoned  that  as 
there  had  been  no  turkeys  nor  potatoes  in  the 
Old  World  there  could  have  been  no  Latin  names 
for  them.  But  I  digress. 

Time  passed  and  all  went  well  until  one  after- 
noon, looking  through  the  one  small  opening  to 
the  glade  which  gave  a  view  of  the  distant  hill- 
side field,  I  saw  distinctly  the  form  of  a  man.  He 
was  chopping,  and  something  about  the  figure 
and  its  movements  reminded  me  irresistibly  of 
our  hired  man,  Eben  Westbrook.  What  could 
it  mean? 

Happy  am  I  to  turn  to  a  subject  more  exhil- 
arating— to  a  novel  incident  in  our  forest  life. 
One  day  Chickum  and  the  twins  went  berrying 
in  the  direction  of  our  former  home,  venturing — 
as  we  rarely  did — even  as  far  as  the  wooded  lot. 
They  were  in  the  midst  of  the  hazel  and  black- 
berry bushes  when  there  was  a  sudden  cackle 
and  flutter  in  the  undergrowth,  and  a  cry  from 
Jorgensen  which  brought  Chickum  hurriedly  to 
the  scene.  What  he  saw  caused  the  impetuous 
youth  to  shout  with  joy.  There,  beneath  a  bush, 


340  THE  CASSOWARY 

was  the  nest  of  a  hen,  Gallina  Americana,  and 
in  it  were  no  less  than  seven  eggs.  Berrying  was 
suspended  promptly,  and  all  the  eggs  save  one 
were  transferred  to  the  pail,  and  then  began  a 
wild  search  for  more.  It  was  well  rewarded.  A 
dozen  or  more  nests  were  found,  the  spoil  of 
which  was  added  to  that  already  secured.  It 
was  a  great  discovery. 

A  prouder  trio  than  entered  Hemlock  Castle 
that  evening,  bringing  their  burden  of  eggs,  could 
not  be  conceived  by  any  sort  of  person,  nor 
could  any  imagine  a  more  enthusiastic  reception 
than  was  accorded  them.  Not  only  were  we  now 
relieved  from  immediate  danger  of  a  food  fam- 
ine, but  the  variation  hi  diet  was  good  for  all 
of  us.  There  was  a  most  riotous  consumption  of 
eggs  for  days,  until  a  startling  tendency  toward 
biliousness,  exhibited  by  little  Krag,  induced 
me  to  counsel  greater  moderation.  So  many 
eggs,  coupled  with  Abyssinia's  bread,  were 
necessarily  trying  to  the  system.  It  was  now 
that  Chickum  developed  a  great  idea.  He  pro- 
posed to  capture  a  number  of  the  fowls,  bring 
them  to  Haven  Glade,  and  there  establish  a 
hennery. 

The  proposition  was  received  with  general 
approbation,  and  next  day  the  construction  of 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          341 

the  hennery  was  begun.  It  was  not  a  difficult 
task  which  faced  us.  Since  the  fowls  must  have 
gravel  and  water,  it  was  decided  that  the  hen- 
nery should  extend  a  little  into  the  creek, 
and  close  beside  its  sloping  bank  the  structure 
was  erected.  There  but  remained  the  capture 
of  the  fowls,  and  Chickum  was  riotous  over  the 
prospect.  He  announced  his  ability  to  catch  a 
dozen  chickens  in  a  single  day,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  Krag  and  Jorgensen  he  made  good 
his  boast,  the  three  running  down  into  the 
bushes  and  bringing  home  just  the  number  of 
hens  he  had  promised. 

Our  life  continued  in  its  placid  way  until  one 
night,  when  a  tremendous  commotion  in  the 
chicken-house  caused  both  Chickum  and  me  to 
rush  out  to  the  rescue.  Chickum  had  seized  the 
carving-knife  as  usual,  and  I  a  handy  bludgeon. 
As  we  neared  the  place  some  dark-colored  animal 
clambered  hurriedly  up  the  side  of  the  enclosure, 
and  as  its  head  appeared  through  a  hole  in  the 
roof  I  dealt  it  a  heavy  blow  and  it  fell  stunned. 
Chickum  descended  through  an  opening  hi  the 
roof  and  the  animal  was  put  out  of  its  misery.  It 
resembled  a  miniature  bear,  save  that  its  color 
was  grayish  and  that  it  possessed  a  long  and 
remarkably  ringed  tail.  I  at  once  recognized  the 


342  THE  CASSOWARY 

common  raccoon,  Procyon  lotor,  and  made  an 
address  to  the  others  upon  its  many  curious 
traits  and  habits  of  life.  One  of  the  hens  was 
found  killed.  A  day  or  two  later  there  entered 
from  the  water  side  an  enemy  which  we  saw  on 
two  or  three  occasions  but  could  not  destroy  nor 
capture.  It  proved  to  be  the  fur-producing  ani- 
mal known  as  a  mink,  Putorius  vison.  Within  a 
week  we  had  not  a  single  fowl  alive.  All  had 
fallen  before  the  rapacity  of  this  bloodthirsty 
creature.  Hunger  stared  us  in  the  face ! 

How  nearly  am  I  approaching  now  to  the  end 
of  this  narrative  of  trial  and  adventure!  How 
vividly  recall  themselves  to  me  the  scenes  of 
one  fateful  afternoon!  There  had  not  been  a 
storm  since  before  our  occupancy  of  Hemlock 
Castle,  and  almost  a  drought  prevailed  through- 
out the  country.  But  a  change  was  near  at  hand. 
There  came  an  afternoon,  airless,  close  and 
heavy  until  near  evening.  Then  white  clouds 
appeared  in  the  west,  growing  rapidly  into 
woolly  mountains. ,  Soon  these  assumed  a  darker 
hue,  and  a  great  wind  arose  before  which  the 
sturdiest  trees  were  bent,  while  an  awful  roar 
resounded  through  the  forest.  A  darkness  came 
upon  everything,  and  we  huddled  in  the  shelter 
of  Hemlock  Castle,  even  Chickum  alarmed, 


THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBERTSON          343 

Abyssinia  crying,  and  the  twins  in  an  agony  of 
terror.  The  rain  began  to  fall  in  such  torrents 
as  I  had  never  known  before.  Now  the  wind  in- 
creased almost  to  a  hurricane,  and  a  sudden  blast 
carried  away  the  roof  of  our  house  as  if  it  had 
been  a  thing  of  paper.  In  a  moment  we  were 
wetted  to  the  skin.  The  creek  became  a  spread- 
ing torrent  which  swept  away  the  ruins  of  our 
house  just  as  we  had  barely  escaped  from  it.  In 
the  darkness  we  clambered  blindly  toward  the 
ridge,  when  I  heard  a  loud  shout  near  us  and 
recognized  the  voice  of  Eben  Westbrook.  Never 
did  human  voice  sound  sweeter!  "Hurry!"  he 
shouted,  "Hurry  home!"  and  came  rushing  up 
to  seize  the  hands  of  Krag  and  Jorgensen  and 
take  the  lead.  Wet  and  bedraggled  we  hurried 
on,  over  the  ridge,  into  the  open,  across  the 
hazel  country,  across  the  Wooded  Pasture, 
across  the  creek,  up  through  the  kitchen  garden, 
and  into  the  house  by  way  of  the  kitchen  door. 
A  fateful  moment  had  arrived. 

I  felt  something  in  my  throat,  but  I  did  not 
shrink.  I  had  decided  what  I  would  say.  I 
would  naught  extenuate,  but  would  fall  back 
upon  the  theory  of  the  sacredness  of  human 
rights.  My  address  was  not  to  receive  a  hearing. 
Our  parents  were  about  sitting  down  to  the 


344  THE  CASSOWARY 

evening  meal,  and,  to  my  surprise,  our  plates 
lay  all  in  their  accustomed  places,  as  if  we  had 
not  been  absent  for  a  day.  My  father  looked  up 
and  nodded  cheerfully  and  mother  only  said: 
" You'd  better  all  go  up  and  get  dry  clothes  on 
before  you  eat."  The  hired  girl  peeked  in 
from  a  side  of  the  kitchen  door  and  drew  her 
head  back  suddenly  with  a  gulp.  Eben  West- 
brook  maintained  what  I  have  heard  called  in 
relation  to  others  an  impassive  countenance. 
We  went  up,  changed  our  clothes,  and  all 
came  downstairs  together.  What  a  meal  it  was ! 
There  was  not  much  conversation,  though  father 
mentioned  something  about  the  beginning  of 
the  school  term.  How  Krag  and  Jorgensen  did 
eat!  But  oh,  the  incomprehensible  apathy  of 
Parents ! 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT 

The  interesting  story  of  "The  Swiss  Family 
Robertson"  told  and  the  usual  comment  made^ 
the  Colonel,  still  beaming,  turned  to  the  Young 
Lady. 

"Will  you  please  tell  us  something?"  he 
said. 

And  her  reply  to  him  was  very  simple  and 
graceful; 

"I  can  at  least  tell  you  about  the  'Lowry- 
Turck  Entanglement/  for  I  was  familiar  with 
the  circumstances."  Then  she  continued: 

THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT 

Apropos  of  the  affair  of  Harvey  Lowry  and 
Angeline  Turck,  as  also  apropos  of  many  other 
affairs  of  similar  nature,  it  is  very  much  to  be 
feared  that  one  of  the  proverbs  is  unreliable. 
"Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention"  comes 
off  the  tongue  glibly  enough,  but  why  "mother"? 
What  rules  the  camp,  the  court,  the  grove, 
and  what  makes  the  world  go  around?  What 


345 


346  THE  CASSOWARY 

but  love,  and  is  not  Love,  when  personified,  a 
male?  And  has  he  not  been  the  cause  of  more 
inventions  than  have  all  others  combined? 
Certainly  it  was  he  who  suggested  an  invention 
of  the  Lowry-Turck  love  affair.  He  is  Necessity 
disguised;  and  he  is  not  a  mother. 

Of  course  Love  need  not  grumble.  He  is  no 
worse  off  than  are  other  fathers.  If  a  boy  be- 
comes famous  in  the  world  the  fact  is  attributed 
to  his  noble  mother;  if  he  becomes  infamous, 
the  community  says,  "Like  father,  like  son" — 
which  is  hardly  fair.  Fathers  are  useful.  Not 
only  did  every  person  who  ever  invented  any- 
thing have  a  father,  but  without  the  father 
romance  would  be  robbed  of  one  of  its  most 
useful  and  steadfast  figures.  These  remarks, 
prefacing  a  love  story,  may  be  didactic  and 
ponderous  and  prosy,  but  they  are  true. 

It  is  true,  as  well,  that,  though  this  is  a 
love  story  pure  and  simple,  Mr.  Turck,  the 
father  in  the  case,  may,  in  a  sense,  be  looked 
upon  as  among  the  characters  who  belong  to  the 
world  of  romance,  for  he  was  the  very  per- 
sonification of  one  accepted  type  of  parent  in 
love  stories,  being  perverse,  tyrannical  and 
hard-hearted,  looking  upon  lovers  as  the  ranch- 
man does  on  wolves,  and  resolved  to  keep  his 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     347 

daughter  to  himself  indefinitely.  He  had  a 
red  face,  tufts  of  side  whiskers  which  grew  out 
nearly  at  right  angles,  and  a  bellowing  voice 
which  would  have  made  his  fortune  as  skipper 
of  a  sailing  craft  in  noisy  seas.  It  was,  perhaps, 
such  men  as  Mr.  Turck  who  brought  the  father 
into  disrepute  before  the  first  romance  was 
written,  and  there  is  little  doubt,  too,  that  it 
has  been  such  daughters  as  Angeline  Turck 
who  have  innocently  aggravated  the  father's 
already  uncertain  temper  and  thus  made  his 
name  the  byword  it  has  become — in  fiction. 

Angeline,  at  the  time  this  affair  began,  was 
seventeen,  and  completely  sovereign  over  the 
heart  of  Harvey  Lowry — to  quote  from  .one  of 
the  young  gentleman's  letters  to  the  young 
lady  herself.  They  had  been  hi  love  six 
months,  according  to  Angeline's  computation, 
seven,  according  to  that  of  Harvey;  but  nat- 
urally, he  had  been  first  to  feel  and  feed  the 
flame.  Harvey,  though  successful  in  his  suit, 
was  not,  in  personal  appearance,  the  ideal  lover 
for  a  girl  of  Angeline's  age — that  is,  he  was 
not  tall,  nor  dark,  nor  haughty  of  mien.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  short,  fair  and  round- 
faced,  and  had  a  thoroughly  businesslike  de- 
meanor. He  looked  like  a  young  man  whose 


348  THE  CASSOWARY 

soul  was  all  in  the  profit  on  a  next  shipment  of 
barrel-hoops,  or  something,  when,  in  truth,  he 
had  endless  romantic  fancies.  In  his  senti- 
ment lay  his  charm,  and  it  was  to  this  quality 
that,  as  she  came  to  know  him  well,  the  fair 
Angeline  had  completely  yielded.  There  had 
been  a  declaration  of  love  and  no  refusal,  but 
as  yet  no  formal  engagement  existed.  That, 
it  was  mutually  understood,  must  come  later, 
the  delay  being  attributable  to  certain  ob- 
stacles of  a  financial  nature.  Meanwhile  the 
time  passed  most  pleasantly.  There  were 
meetings  where  Harvey  said  things  calculated 
to  touch  the  heart,  and  there  was  much  letter- 
writing.  It  was  this  last  which  wrecked  the 
air-castle. 

One  evening  when  Angeline's  parents  were 
alone,  Mr.  Turck  startled  his  wife  by  demanding 
suddenly : 

"What's  that  young  Lowry  coming  here  so 
much  for?  I  don't  like  it!" 

Mrs.  Turck  replied  mildly  that  she  supposed 
Mr.  Lowry  came  chiefly  to  see  Angeline.  She 
saw  nothing  very  wrong  in  that.  He  was  said 
to  be  a  steady  young  man,  and,  of  course, 
Angeline  must  have  harmless  company  occasion- 
ally. 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     349 

"I  don't  care  whether  he's  steady  or  not.  He's 
coming  here  too  much.  Don't  tell  me  anything 
about  'harmless  company !'  He's  after  Angeline, 
and  I  won't  have  it!  I'll  look  into  this  thing!" 
And  Mr.  Turck  gave  utterance  to  a  sound 
which  may  be  indifferently  described  as  a  deter- 
mined snort.  Mrs.  Turck  understood  it,  and 
looked  for  trouble  of  some  sort  in  the  near  future. 
She  had  reason. 

The  evening  before,  Harvey,  after  leaving  the 
house,  had  kissed  Angeline's  hand  at  the  garden 
gate.  It  had  been  at  this  electrical  moment 
that  Mr.  Turck  looked  out  of  the  sitting-room 
window,  instead  of  attending  to  his  newspaper 
as  he  should  have  done,  and  noted  the  two 
forms  showing  dimly  through  the  gathering 
shade.  He  did  not  distinctly  see  the  kiss,  but 
something  in  the  movement  was  vaguely  remin- 
iscent to  him.  His  suspicions  were  aroused.  He 
had  called  harshly  to  Angeline  to  come  in  and 
go  to  her  mother,  and  she  had  obeyed,  while 
Harvey  melted  away  into  the  summer  night, 
after  the  manner  of  lovers  who  have  attracted 
the  paternal  eye.  Neither  of  the  two  was  much 
disturbed.  There  was  a  glow  in  the  heart  of 
each,  a  glow  too  deep  to  be  affected  by  an  omi- 


350  THE  CASSOWARY 

nous  word  or  two.    Yet  this  episode  had  led  to 
Mr.  Turck's  outbreak  before  his  wife. 

The  first  blow  fell  early.  Before  two  more 
days  had  passed  Mr.  Turck  had  broken  out  at 
the  breakfast  table  and  had  forbidden  Angeline 
to  have  any  further  relations  of  any  sort  with 
Harvey  Lowry.  She  must  not  speak  to  him. 
There  were  tears  and  quite  a  scene.  Even  the 
subdued  Mrs.  Turck  ventured  to  say  a  word, 
and  asked  what  Angeline  could  do  when  meet- 
ing Harvey  on  the  street?  To  this  only  the 
curt  reply  was  given  that  "a  dignified  bow"  was 
enough.  It  was  rather  hard.  The  old  gentle- 
man did  not  know  it,  his  meek  wife  did  not  sus- 
pect it,  and  Angeline  would  never  have  believed 
it,  but  the  truth  is,  if  Angeline' s  life  had  de- 
pended on  the  making  of  a  dignified  bow,  it 
would  have  been  short  shrift  for  her.  It  must 
be  regretfully  admitted  that  in  the  village  of 
Willow  Bend  the  bow,  as  practiced  by  maids 
alike,  was  such  a  casual  bob  of  the  head  as  con- 
veyed not  the  remotest  conception  of  any  dig- 
nity. It  may  have  been  a  fact  that  this  Arca- 
dian bob  was  subject  to  modification  among 
the  elders,  but  that  does  not  matter.  The 
father,  looking  upon  Angeline's  meek  face  and 
recognizing  the  accustomed  submission  in  his 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     351 

wife's  eyes,  felt  that  he  had  done  a  fit  and  be- 
coming morning's  work,  and  drank  his  coffee 
calmly,  while  Angeline  trifled  sadly  with  her 
spoon  and  looked  dumbly  out  of  the  nearest 
window. 

That  evening  Lowry  called,  and  was  told  by 
the  servant  maid  who  met  him  at  the  door  that 
he  could  not  enter.  The  young  man  understood 
well  enough  that  this  was  under  Mr.  Turck's 
direction,  and  went  away  less  dispirited  than 
he  might  have  been.  The  next  day  Mrs.  Turck, 
who  feared  to  do  otherwise,  brought  to  the 
lord  of  the  house  a  tinted  piece  of  folded  paper, 
which  proved  to  be  a  letter  from  Harvey  to  the 
again  suspiciously  rosy  Angeline.  This  danger- 
ous piece  of  Love's  fighting  gear  had  been  de- 
tected by  Mrs.  Turck's  eagle  eye  among  the 
trifles  on  her  daughter's  work  table.  A  charge 
direct,  tears,  expostulations,  confession,  and 
the  delivery  of  the  missive  over  to  the  enemy 
had  followed  swiftly.  The  hair  stood  upon  the 
paternal  head  in  disapproval  as  Mr.  Turck  held 
the  pink  letter  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger and  read  it  stridently  aloud.  After  all, 
there  was  little  in  it  to  excite  either  anger  or 
apprehension,  for  it  was  only  an  expression  of 
hope  that  the  writer  could  see  Angeline  that 


352  THE  CASSOWARY 

evening  at  a  little  party  at  the  home  of  a  mutual 
friend,  but,  as  with  venomous  insects,  its  sting 
was  in  its  tail,  for  it  was  signed  solely  with 
these  three  letters:  "I.  L.  Y." 

Now,  even  Mr.  Turck  did  not  need  to  be  told 
what  the  letters  he  described  as  " those  infam- 
ous characters"  signified.  The  world  knows 
them.  His  wife,  too,  flushed  when  he  showed 
them  to  her,  and  then,  for  once  bridling  a  little 
at  the  "infamous,"  she  reminded  him  tfcat  there 
was  a  time  when  Mr.  Turck  himself,  as  a 
matter  of  custom  and  daily  habit,  wrote  those 
very  characters  at  the  end  of  all  his  letters; 
but,  though  for  a  moment  embarrassed  by  this 
allusion,  the  husband  only  sniffed. 

Angeline  had  a  bad  half  hour  over  the  "I.  L. 
Y.,"  and  the  end  was  submission  almost  abject, 
for  Mr.  Turck  would  brook  no  half-way  measures. 
The  girl  promised  neither  to  write  to  nor  read 
any  letters  from  the  young  man  so  disapproved. 
In  a  sharp  communication  from  Mr.  Turck,  Har- 
vey Lowry  was  made  to  know  the  unpopularity 
of  his  epistolary  efforts  in  the  Turck  household, 
and  for  a  day  or  two  apparently  bowed  his  head 
to  the  paternal  will.  But  who  may  comprehend 
the  ways  of  a  lover?  One  morning  not  a  week 
after  the  "L  L.  Y."  affair,  Mr.  Turck  saw  another 


THE  LOWRY  TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     353 

suspicious-looking  envelope  in  the  bundle  of 
letters  he  carried  home  from  the  post-office  at 
luncheon  time.  He  looked  hard  at  Angeline's 
face  when  she  opened  the  letter  at  the  table  and 
noted  there  was  an  expression  of  confusion  and 
surprise.  Without  a  word,  he  stretched  out  an 
authoritative  hand,  and,  without  a  word,  Ange- 
line  gave  him  the  small,  open  sheet  of  heavy 
cream  colored  paper.  This  is  what  he  saw, 
drawn  with  pen  and  ink,  on  the  fan*  page :  i_^ 

Only  that  and  nothing  more. 

It  was  now  that  Angeline's  persecutions  began 
in  earnest.  She  was  questioned,  and  threatened, 
and  bullied,  and  coaxed,  but  she  would  not  tell 
the  meaning  of  those  four  lines  drawn  upon  that 
virgin  page,  and  sent  to  her  in  an  envelope  ad- 
dressed in  the  handwriting  of  Harvey  Lowry. 
In  truth,  the  poor  girl  did  not  know,  and  could 
not  guess,  what  the  thing  meant,  herself.  Denial 
tears,  supplication — all  were  of  no  avail.  Mr. 
Turck  would  not  believe  his  daughter.  He  held 
the  drawing  upside  down,  sideways,  and  then 
almost  horizontal,  as  one  does  in  reading  where 
the  letters  are  purposely  made  tall  and  thin,  but 
he  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  raged  the  more 
at  his  incompetence.  "It  looks  a  little  like  a  side 
plan  of  a  room,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "but 


354  THE  CASSOWARY 

it  isn't  complete.  Have  the  fools  arranged  to 
run  away  and  are  they  planning  a  house  al- 
ready?" The  idea  was  too  much  for  him.  He 
seized  his  hat  and  went  forth  for  advice. 

Mr.  Turck  was  in  the  office  of  Baldison,  a  con- 
tractor and  builder,  within  five  minutes.  "Here, 
Baldison,"  he  bellowed  as  he  came  in,  "what  is 
this?  Is  it  part  of  a  plan  of  a  house,  or,  if  not, 
what  is  it?" 

Mr.  Baldison  was  a  cautious  man,  and,  taking 
the  paper,  he  examined  the  connected  lines  long 
and  deliberately.  His  comment,  when  he  made 
it,  was  not  entirely  satisfying. 

"It  might  be  part  of  a  side  plan  of  one  story," 
he  said,  "but  it  ain't  finished.  There's  only  one 
brace  in,  and  the  cross  beam  is  lacking.  If  it 
wasn't  for  the  left-hand  upright,  I  should  say  it 
was  part  of  a  swing-crane,  but  the  pulley  isn't 
strung.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  Who  made  it?" 

But  Mr.  Turck  did  not  go  into  particulars. 
He  left  Baldison' s  place  and  studied  out  the 
problem  in  his  own  office;  he  went  out  again 
and  asked  in  vain  the  opinion  of  a  dozen  men, 
and  he  went  home  that  evening  baffled  and  in 
a  frame  of  mind  of  which  the  less  said  the  better. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  Angeline  was  packed 
off  to  the  Misses  Cutlet's  boarding-school  in 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     355 

distant  Belleville,  to  be  "finished,"  as  her 
mother  described  it.  The  irate  father  used  other 
and  far  less  becoming  words. 

This  shifting  of  the  scene  when,  to  her,  so 
much  of  importance  was  involved,  was  a  most 
serious  thing  to  Angeline.  But  it  might  have 
been  much  worse  than  it  proved  at  the  school. 
Plump  Bessey  Payton,  another  girl  from  Willow 
Bend,  was  there,  and  it  was  easily  so  arranged 
that  the  two  occupied  adjoining  rooms.  They 
had  been  friends  for  years,  and  the  renewed 
companionship  was  much  for  Angeline.  It  aided 
in  partial  distraction. 

And  now  this  story,  which  has  been — from  an 
ordinary  point  of  view — little  more  than  a  com- 
edy, develops  into  something  very  like  a  tragedy. 
It  was  so  to  a  young  girl,  at  least.  The  Misses 
Cutlet  had  been  instructed  to  keep  a  sharp  eye 
open,  and  report,  as  well  as  they  might,  upon 
the  quantity  of  Angeline' s  correspondence.  They 
had  little  to  tell.  Angeline  received  few  letters, 
and  none  frequently  from  any  one  person,  so 
far  as  could  be  learned  from  the  envelopes  ad- 
dressed to  her.  The  parents  were  content. 

And  Angeline  really  had  no  correspondence 
with  Harvey  Lowry.  She  was  a  young  woman 
who  would  keep  her  word,  and  she  did  not 


356  THE  CASSOWARY 

write  to  him,  while  from  him  came  no  message 
save  an  occasional  envelope  containing  only  a 
slip  of  paper  upon  which  appeared  the  myste- 
rious symbol.  But  was  not  that  enough?  Did 
it  not  indicate  that  she  was  still  in  his  heart, 
and  that  he  would  be  always  hers?  Those  lines 
must  have  a  meaning,  and  though  she  could  not 
translate  them,  she  felt  it  was  only  because 
Harvey  had  forgotten  that  he  had  never  given 
her  the  key.  What  of  that?  She  knew  in- 
stinctively that  the  story  they  told  was  one  of 
faith  and  faithfulness.  How  delicate  of  him, 
and  how  thoughtful  that  such  loving  reminder 
should  come  at  times,  and  how  wonderful  it 
was  that  he  should  have  invented  such  a  thing 
for  her  dear  sake  alone !  Her  love  grew  with  the 
months,  and  so,  unfortunately,  despite  the 
letters  with  the  reassuring  figure,  did  her  un- 
happiness. 

It  is  perhaps  unreasonable  that  we  should 
laugh  at  the  loves  of  the  young,  at  what  we 
call  "calf  love"  in  the  male,  and  a  "school- 
girl's fancy"  hi  the  maiden,  for  the  springs  of 
the  heart  do  not  always  deepen  with  the 
years.  Well  for  youth  is  it  that  it  owns 
such  wonderfully  recuperative  forces  of  mind 
and  body;  sad  would  it  be  to  the  elders  if,  with- 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     357 

out  such  recuperative  powers,  their  feelings 
were  given  such  abandonment.  Youth's  hurts 
are  sometimes  serious.  Angeline  was  growing 
from  the  subjugated  girl  into  the  suffering 
woman.  Other  young  women,  she  reasoned, 
were  allowed  to  love  and  to  marry  the  men  of 
their  choice.  Why  should  she  be  made  so  cruel 
an  exception?  She  idealized  the  absent,  as  the 
loving,  so  often  do.  In  her  mind,  Harvey  Lowry 
had  grown  from  one  for  whom  she  cared  more 
than  for  others  into  a  hero  without  a  flaw,  one 
thoughtful,  considerate,  self-denying  and  alto- 
gether noble.  The  sentimental  vein  in  her 
nature  broadened  and  deepened,  and  she  placed 
a  greater  value  on  the  sweet  reminder  of  the 
mysterious  figures  in  the  letters.  And  all  for 
her!  How  constant  he  was,  and  how  hard  the 
lot  of  both  of  them !  She  became  feverish  and 
impatient.  Her  studies  lost  all  interest,  her 
cheeks  became  paler,  thinner,  her  manner  more 
languid.  It  could  not  last. 

So  the  months  went  by  until  the  end  of  the 
scholastic  year  was  close  at  hand.  Angeline 
would  soon  be  in  Willow  Bend  again  and  with 
her  parents.  She  would  meet  Harvey  Lowry 
again — that  was  inevitable.  What  would  the 
near  vacation  bring  to  her?  she  asked  herself. 


358  THE  CASSOWARY 

She  was  growing  stubborn  now.  The  por- 
tentous figure  of  her  father  no  longer  loomed 
so  highly  hi  her  eyes  as  formerly,  and  she  was 
the  decided  woman,  with  a  woman's  heart  and 
will,  and  a  woman's  rights.  What  might  be 
the  summer's  history! 

Accidents — as  thoughtful  people  are  much 
given  to  remark — have  sometimes  great  effect 
on  the  affairs  of  human  beings. 

One  day  as  Angeline,  visiting  her  friend,  stood 
looking  at  her  still  agreeable  image  in  Bess' 
mirror,  she  saw,  stuck  in  the  frame,  among 
cards,  notes  and  photographs,  a  square  of  yel- 
lowish paper.  The  coloring  seemed  to  have 
come  from  age,  but  of  that  Angeline  made  no 
note.  All  she  saw  or  knew  was  that  the 
paper  bore  this  mystic  sign  upon  it :  [yTj 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  girl  stood  mo- 
tionless.    Power  of  speech  and  movement  were 
gone.     Then,   "Bess,"  she  called  tremblingly; 
"what  is  this?"  and  she  held  out  the  paper  for 
inspection. 

"That?  Oh,  that  is  from  Harvey  Lowry," 
said  Bess  composedly. 

"But,  oh,  Bess,"  cried  the  girl  excitedly, 
"what  does  it  mean?" 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     359 

"Can't  you  guess?"  was  the  reply. 

"No,  I  can't,"  was  the  slow  answer,  "and — 
and  I've  seen  it  before." 

The  careless  Bess  was  aroused  now,  and  there 
was  a  flash  in  her  black  eyes.  "How  dare 
Harvey  Lowry  have  sent  one  of  those  to  any 
one  else?"  she  broke  out  impetuously,  but  her 
excitement  was  only  momentary.  She  began 
to  laugh.  "Well,  it  was  a  good  while  ago,  after 
all."  And  so  her  anger  vanished. 

Angeline  was  recovering  herself,  though  with 
an  effort.  "But  tell  me — tell  me  what  it  means," 
she  demanded. 

"Why,  you  stupid  girl!"  was  the  reply.  "I 
guessed  it  in  the  first  ten  minutes — and  once 
we  signed  all  our  letters  with  it.  Now,  see 
here,"  and  she  took  paper  and  pencil  and  drew 
a  perpendicular  mark,  thus :  | 

"That  is  T  isn't  it?  Well  then,  I'll  put  on 
this  mark,"  and  she  added  a  line  horizontally, 
making  this  figure :  l_ 

"That's  an  'L'  you  see.  Next,  to  make  your 
'Y/  you  put  on  this" — she  made  two  added 
marks — "and  you  have  this:  Lil 

"There's  your  'I.  L.  Y.'  sign!" 

Angeline  was  stunned.     Never  was  a  dream 


360  THE  CASSOWARY 

dispelled  so  suddenly  and  harshly.  Not  for 
her  had  that  mystic  figure  been  devised,  but 
for  another,  and  it  had  been  utilized  a  second 
time,  as  if  there  were  no  sacredness  to  such 
things!  It  mattered  not  how  much  Harvey 
Lowry  might  be  interested  in  her  now,  she  was 
but  a  sort  of  second-hand  girl.  Anger  took 
the  place  of  her  unhappiness.  "Delicate  and 
thoughtful,"  indeed!  To  send  those  reassuring 
notes  to  her  was  now  but  a  cheap  impertinence ! 
She  had  been  accustomed,  in  her  pity  of  her- 
self, to  quote  something  from  Shakespeare 
which  seemed  to  her  to  have  a  peculiarly  sad 
and  fitting  application:  "Not  poppy,  nor  man- 
dragora,  nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
which  thou  owed'st  yesterday!" 

Here  were  poppy  and  mandragora  and  syrups 
enough,  all  administered  in  one  rude  prescrip- 
tion, as  to  the  efficacy  of  which  there  could  be 
no  shadow  of  a  doubt! 

Somehow  the  brooding  and  disappointed 
woman  seemed  to  melt  away  now,  and  there 
reappeared  the  impulsive  girl  again.  It  was  an 
angry  girl,  though.  Her  first  grief  over — and 
it  lasted  but  for  a  day — she  resolved  upon  an 
epistolary  feat  of  her  own.  She  wrote  three 


THE  LOWRY-TURCK  ENTANGLEMENT     361 

letters.  The  first  was  to  Harvey  Lowry.  It 
was  not  quite,  but  nearly,  as  school-girlish  as 
she  might  have  written  a  year  earlier,  being 
distinctly  of  the  "  'tis  better  thus"  variety  and 
" coldly  dissecting,"  as  she  afterwards  said  in 
confidence  to  a  bosom  friend.  In  it  she  bade 
her  admirer  an  eternal  farewell,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  they  must  inevitably  see  each 
other  every  day  in  the  week  as  soon  as  she  re- 
turned to  Willow  Bend.  This  labored  epistle 
she  placed  in  another,  of  a  meek  and  lowly 
tenor,  to  her  father.  Both  of  these  she  in- 
closed in  a  letter  to  her  mother. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  upon  receipt  of 
these  letters  in  Willow  Bend  the  Turck  family 
fairly  glowed.  The  old  gentleman  sent  Ange- 
line's  letter  to  Harvey,  accompanied  by  a  stiff 
one  of  his  own,  and  sent  to  Belleville  a  sub- 
stantial addition  to  his  daughter's  quarterly 
allowance. 

As  to  Harvey  Lowry,  who  has  been  much 
neglected,  his  own  story  deserves  some  atten- 
tion now.  When  he  had  read  the  two  letters  he 
was  a  most  perplexed  young  man.  It  had  nev- 
er occurred  to  him  that  to  use  his  "I.  L.  Y." 
device  a  second  time,  or  rather  with  a  second 
girl,  was  anything  out  of  the  way,  for,  with  all 


362  THE  CASSOWARY 

his  sentiment,  Harvey  was  not  insistent  upon 
the  finer  shadings  in  the  affairs  of  life,  even 
when  appertaining  to  the  heart.  He  had  real- 
ly cared  for  Angeline,  but  he  did  not  become 
a  soured  and  disappointed  man.  Despite  the 
"dissecting"  letter,  he  and  Angeline  often  met 
and  spoke  in  later  times,  and  when,  finally, 
she  married,  and  married  well,  there  was  none 
more  gratified  than  he.  Time  tells  in  the  vil- 
lage as  much  as  it  does  elsewhere.  Nothing 
could  extract  quite  all  the  romance  from  the 
ingenious  Harvey.  After  fluttering  around  the 
village  beauties  for  a  time  he  ended  by  marry- 
ing a  sweet-tempered,  freckled  country  girl,  with 
whom  he  lives  in  great  content  in  a  small  house, 
crowded  now  with  jolly,  freckled  boys  and  girls. 
And  here  comes  relation  of  something  which 
shows  how  hard  it  is  to  eliminate  the  once  im- 
planted sentimental  tendency.  To  this  day, 
when  the  father  of  the  freckled  family  has 
occasion  to  write  to  the  mother,  he  inva- 
riably signs  his  letters:  L^i 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  PALE  PEACOCK  AND  THE  PURPLE  HERRING 

The  Young  Lady  was  much  applauded.  Col- 
onel Livingstone  looked  into  Stafford's  eyes, 
and  was  hesitant.  Yet  he  still  had  something 
of  the  old  masterly  way  about  him,  and  he 
spoke  out  openly  and  very  frankly.  There  is 
something  about  the  United  States  army  offi- 
cer that  is  worth  while.  He  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion. The  manner  hi  which  he  rose  to  it  was 
worthy  of  his  occupation  and  rank.  He  said: 

"You  have  done  things,  my  boy.  You  have 
bossed  this  train.  You  have  brought  to  us  a 
great  engineering  and  overbearing  quality." 

And  the  Colonel  almost  blushed  in  an  af- 
fectionate sort  of  lapse.  "And  yet  it  may  be 
that  you  expect  to  get  away  from  me,  Mr. 
Stafford.  You  have  got  to  tell  your  own 
story  before  we  escape  from  here  through 
this  soon  to  be  open  road  that  you  have  largely 
made  for  us.  Tell  us  the  story,  Mr.  Stafford." 

There  are  times  when  a  strong  man  may  be 
crushed,  but  it  is  rarely,  save  by  thought  of  a 


363 


364  THE  CASSOWARY 

a  woman.  Stafford  looked  slantwise  up  the 
aisle,  and  then  with  a  look  that  was  tell-tale 
in  his  eyes  as  he  cast  them  toward  Her,  where 
she  was  sitting  three  or  four  seats  away.  He  told 
the  story  of 

THE  PALE  PEACOCK  AND  THE  PURPLE  HERRING 

This  is  not  really  more  the  story  of  the  Pale 
Peacock  and  the  Purple  Herring  than  it  is  of 
John  and  Agnes,  but  that  does  not  matter  much, 
for  the  first  account  encompasses  the  second, 
in  a  way.  What  is  chiefly  curious  is  the  dif- 
ference, in  point  of  view,  between  the  Peacock 
and  Herring,  and  the  other  two. 

Once  there  was  a  peacock.  Never  before 
was  so  beautiful  a  peacock  as  she.  She  was 
snow-white  except  as  to  her  head  and  tail.  Her 
appearance  was  something  wonderful.  From 
her  head  down  to  her  shoulders  the  hues  blend- 
ed and  flashed  in  iridescent  green.  When- 
ever she  moved  herself  in  the  slightest  degree 
there  appeared  a  lighting  in  color  passionate- 
ly vivid.  From  about  her  neck  and  breast 
there  shone  what  is  known  as  a  lambent  flame 
which  at  times  became  tempestuous.  So  the 
neck  and  shoulders  melted  into  the  snow-white 
of  the  body,  a  restless  glimmering  ebbing  into 
a  milky  way.  It  was  just  so  with  the  tail. 


THE  PEACOCK  AND  PURPLE  HERRING    365 

Well,  this  peacock  was  unlike  other  pea- 
cocks. She  was  not — eh? — she  was  not  mor- 
bid, but  she  was  solitary  and  reflective  and  in- 
tensely emotional  and  sentimental.  Of  course 
she  had  two  feet  and  had  a  voice,  but  the  less 
said  of  them  the  better.  She  would  wander  up 
and  down  by  the  lakeside  and  think  of  all  that 
might  be.  She  scarcely  dreamed  that  there  was 
to  come  to  her  what  was  her  secret  heart's 
desire,  but  in  time  it  came.  She  met  the  Purple 
Herring.  With  each  of  them  it  was  a  case  of 
infatuation  at  first  sight. 

Now  the  Purple  Herring  was  almost  as  much 
of  an  exceptional  case  as  the  Pale  Peacock.  He 
was  the  only  purple  herring  in  all  the  great 
lakes,  and  was  practically  the  King  of  the 
Herrings,  and  was  respected  as  such.  Person- 
ally, he  had  hi  his  nature  many  of  the  traits  of 
the  Pale  Peacock.  He,  too,  was  emotional, 
faithful,  and  impassioned.  They  loved. 

Here  was  a  most  unfortunate  situation.  Nat- 
urally, the  purple  Herring  could  not  get  along 
very  well  upon  the  land,  and,  naturally  too, 
the  Peacock  could  not  flourish  in  the  water.  It 
was  not  exactly  a  case  of  Platonic  love;  it  was 
a  case  of  hopeless  love,  in  a  way,  and  yet,  not 
altogether  hopeless,  for  they  were  happy.  It 


366  THE  CASSOWARY 

came  to  this,  that  they  made  the  best  of  things, 
and  that  the  Peacock,  day  after  day,  would 
wander  along  upon  the  sands  which  the  water 
lapped,  while  the  Herring  would  swim  along 
beside  her,  and  they  would  exchange  tender 
confidences,  and  that,  to  amuse  her,  he  would 
tell  her  tales,  many  tales,  of  the  wonders  of  the 
vasty  deep  of  the  lake.  He  told  her  why  the 
fish  flies  came  in  autumn  and  smeared  the  win- 
dows and  made  slippery  the  sidewalks  of  the 
great  city;  of  how  they  lay  in  the  mud  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake,  like  little  short  sticks,  and 
then  finally  burst  open  and  came  to  the  surface 
and  floated  away  into  town.  He  told  her  of  his 
talk  with  Mrs.  Whitefish,  and  of  how  she  did 
not  think  the  spawn  was  getting  along  as  well 
as  usual.  He  told  her  of  a  thousand  things, 
and  they  were  happy. 

They  often  talked  too,  this  united  yet  effectu- 
ally separated  pair,  of  what  they  saw  upon  the 
shores  of  the  placid  lake,  whose  creamy  sands, 
outside  the  city,  sloped  down  to  the  water's 
edge  from  green  fields  and  waving  groves. 

Many  people  walked  along  the  sands,  and 
children  played  and  romped  there  all  day.  At 
sunset  the  Purple  Herring  began  to  look  with 
special  interest  for  the  lovers  who  came  in  pairs 


THE  PEACOCK  AND  PURPLE  HERRING    367 

and  sat  until  late,  talking,  and  sometimes  in 
blissful  silence  while  they  listened  to  the  soft 
lapping  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore. 

One  day  the  Purple  Herring  told  the  Pale 
Peacock  about  one  of  these  pairs  of  lovers,  the 
only  pair,  he  said,  which  were  not  happy. 

"And  I  can't  imagine  why  they  are  not, 
either,"  said  the  Purple  Herring. 

"Nor  can  I,  although  I  have  not  yet  heard  all 
you  know  about  them,"  said  the  Pale  Peacock. 
"How  two  lovers  who  may  live  together  forever, 
who  are  not  kept  from  each  other  by  such  a  fate 
as  separates  you  and  me — how  men  and  women 
who  love  each  other  can  be  unhappy,  is  more 
than  I  can  conjure  up  by  any  stretch  of  fancy !" 

"Her  name  is  Agnes,"  began  the  Purple 
Herring,  "and  when  I  first  saw  her  she  was 
walking  slowly  along  the  shore,  back  and  forth, 
on  a  stretch  of  beach  bordering  the  great  park 
at  the  head  of  the  lake.  The  sky  was  red  after 
sunset,  and  in  the  southwest  hung  the  new 
moon,  with  a  great  star  over  it.  She  was  a 
beautiful  lady,  but  she  looked  perplexed  and 
a  little  sad  even  on  that  first  evening.  I  did  not 
notice  the  perplexity  and  sorrow  on  her  sweet 
face  at  the  time,  but  afterward  I  remembered  it. 

"Suddenly  her  face  was  all  lighted  up  by 


368  THE  CASSOWARY 

some  light  that  was  not  of  the  western  sky,  nor 
of  the  little  bent  moon,  nor  the  great  star.  Her 
eyes  shone,  her  cheeks  became  pink  like  the  in- 
side of  a  pink  shell,  and  I  looked  where  her  eyes 
were  turned.  I  saw  a  man  walking  rapidly 
toward  her,  and  I  thought,  'Only  another  pair 
of  lovers!' 

"But  this  was  no  common  pair;  I  could  not 
leave  them,  they  were  so  strangely  attractive. 
Their  voices  thrilled  me  as  I  heard  them.  I 
could  feel  all  around  the  vibrations  of  deep 
emotion,  electrical,  disturbing,  and  enchanting. 
The  lady  began  their  conversation : 

"  'The  day  has  been  so  long!'  she  said.  'And 
our  time  together  is  so  short!'  the  man  replied. 

"They  did  not  touch  each  other.  They  did 
not  even  take  each  other's  hands.  .They  only 
walked  slowly  along  the  shore,  side  by  side, 
yet  I  and  all  the  world  had  but  to  see  them  to 
know  that  they  were  lovers. 

"  'Agnes,'  the  man  said,  'how  happy  the  men 
and  women  are  who  have  a  home  together!  I 
would  not  care  how  humble  the  roof  was  that 
sheltered  you  and  me.  How  glad  I  would  be  to 
work  for  you,  to  plan,  and  in  every  way  live 
for  you — even  now  I  live  only  for  you! — but 
what  a  joy  it  would  be  if  it  could  all  be  with  you  P 


THE  PEACOCK  AND  PURPLE  HERRING    369 

"  'Do  not  speak  of  it,  John/  the  woman  said, 
and  her  voice  trembled. 

"  'How  many  there  are/  the  man  continued, 
passionately,  'how  many  there  are  who  are 
chained  together,  straining  both  at  the  chain! 
They  would  be  free,  and  cannot.  Their  dwelling- 
place  is  no  home.  They  fret  and  sting  each 
other,  while  you  and  I — " 

"  'John!'  the  lady  interrupted  him. 

"  'Forgive  me!'  he  said,  his  tone  suddenly 
changing.  'I  can  see  you  but  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  I  proceed  to  make  you  miserable!  Forgive 
me !  Tell  me  about  yourself — what  you  are  think- 
ing, what  you  are  reading.  Has  the  white  rose 
blossomed  in  your  garden?  How  is  my  friend 
Rex,  and  why  didn't  you  bring  him  with  you?' 

'"She  answered  first  about  the  dog,  Rex,  and 
then  their  talk  grew  uninteresting,  or  it  grew 
late,  so  that  I  became  sleepy;  I  don't  know 
which,  but  soon  they  parted,  and,  would  you 
believe  it?  the  man  didn't  even  kiss  her  once, 
nor  touch  her  hand ! 

"I  saw  this  strange  couple  many  times  again 
during  that  clear  bright  June  weather,  and  some- 
times I  heard  their  talk.  There  was  always 
something  about  it  that  made  me  think  of  heat- 


370  THE  CASSOWARY 

lightning,  with  a  mystery  of  earnestness  even 
in  their  light  banter  and  play  of  talk. 

"You  must  have  observed  that  these  human 
creatures  often  mean  things  they  do  not  say, 
and  yet  contrive  that  the  sense  shall  show 
through  their  misleading  words.  These  two 
often  talked  lightly  and  laughed  together, 
but  there  was  ever  an  undercurrent  of  feeling 
of  such  deepness  and  power  as  I  could  not  com- 
prehend; its  mystery  almost  irritated  me. 

"One  day — it  was  at  night — not  a  living  soul 
was  to  be  seen  on  the  sands  as  the  two  came 
walking  toward  me.  They  came  swiftly  as  if 
they  would  walk  into  the  water,  but  stopped 
there  at  its  edge — and  I  listened,  fascinated  by 
their  tense  faces,  and  deep  low  voices. 

"  'We  must  do  what  is  right/  the  man  was 
saying.  'Honor  binds  you,  and  it  binds  me.  We 
must  not  play  with  fire.  I  have  taken  the  step 
which  parts  us.' 

"  'So  soon!'  said  she. 

"  'None  too  soon!'  the  man  protested.  Then 
he  burst  out,  as  if  he  could  not  keep  what  came 
like  a  torrent  from  his  lips. 

"  'Help  me!  help  me!  We  must  decide  and 
act  together !  I  cannot  leave  you  without  your 
help!' 


THE  PEACOCK  AND  PURPLE  HERRING  371 

"The  lady  turned  her  face  from  him  for  a 
moment.  She  looked  away  across  the  water, 
and  the  tears  which  had  started  to  her  eyes 
seemed  as  if  commanded  not  to  fall.  Pale  she 
was,  pale  was  her  face,  and  with  the  look  of  ice 
with  snow  upon  it.  Her  voice,  when  she  turned 
to  him  again,  did  not  seem  like  her  voice — the 
sound  of  it  made  him  start. 

"  'You  are  right/  she  said,  'Good-bye.  God 
bless  you!' 

"  'Agnes!'  the  man  cried,  as  she  turned  away. 

"  'Go,'  she  answered. 

"The  man  looked  at  her  as  if  to  fix  her  image 
upon  his  soul  forever,  and  said,  repeating  her 
words :  'Good-bye,  God  bless  you !' 

"Then  he  walked  quickly  off  into  the  park,  and 
away,  never  looking  back.  The  lady  sank  down 
on  a  seat  by  the  water's  edge.  For  a  long  time 
I  watched  her  and  she  did  not  move.  When, 
finally,  she  arose  and  walked  away,  I  felt  that 
I  was  seeing  her,  and  I  also  had  seen  the  man, 
for  the  last  time.  And  so  it  was.  I  have  watched 
for  them  in  vain.  The  man  has  gone  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  That  I  know  by  the  look  on  his 
face  and  hers.  She  will  never  see  him  again,  nor 
will  she  walk  by  these  waters  where  she  used  to 


372  THE  CASSOWARY 

walk  with  him.  But  why?  That  is  what  puzzles 
me!" 

"What  fools  these  mortals  be!"  said  the  Pale 
Peacock,  without  the  least  idea  that  any  one 
else  had  ever  before  made  that  remark. 

Pale  Death  with  even  tread  knocks  at  the 
threshold  of  rich  and  poor.  "Pallida  mors 
aequam  pulsat,"  etc.  One  day  the  Purple  Her- 
ring died,  and  the  Pale  Peacock  suffered  as  suffer 
those  who  love  and  are  bereaved.  Little  cared 
she  for  longer  life,  and  she  wanted  to  pine  away. 
She  went  to  a  policeman  on  the  corner,  and 
said:  "Tell  me  how  to  pine." 

"What  now!  What  now!"  said  the  policeman 
and  he  gave  her  no  assistance. 

But  she  must  pine.  She  wanted  to  pine  away. 
She  wandered  on  and  met  the  Cream-Colored 
Cat,  and  to  her  she  told  her  tale.  Now,  the 
Cream-Colored  Cat  had  herself  learned  to  pine, 
having  lost  her  loving  mistress,  and,  being  of 
an  affable  and  affectionate  nature,  she  at  once 
revealed  the  secret  of  pining  to  the  Pale  Pea- 
cock, and  they  joined  forces  and  pined  to- 
gether. And  they  pined,  and  they  pined,  and 
they  pined.  They  pined  until  they  became  a 
Sublimated  Substance — (just  what  a  Subli- 
mated Substance  is  does  not  matter  in  this 


THE  PEACOCK  AND  PURPLE  HERRING    373 

story) — and  they  pined  along  until  they  be- 
came something  so  intangible  they  were  almost 
like  a  little  fog;  that  is,  they  were  like  a 
young  fog,  for  as  a  fog  gets  older  and  begins 
to  dissipate,  it  gets  thinner,  so  that  the  younger 
a  fog  is,  the  thicker  it  is.  Finally  it  becomes  a 
vapor.  And  they  became  what  may  be  called 
an  Evanescent  Vapor,  until  all  was  lost  in  the 
Empyrean.  And  the  souls  of  the  Pale  Peacock 
and  the  Purple  Herring  were  at  last  com- 
mingled. 

Perhaps  it  was  so  in  the  end  with  the  souls  of 
John  and  Agnes. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    RELEASE 

As  Stafford  concluded  his  fanciful,  dreamy 
but,  seemingly,  from  his  manner,  most  earnest 
story,  the  Far  Away  Lady  gave  him  a  single 
appealing  glance  and  then  arose  and  departed 
for  her  own  car.  As  she  passed  he  saw  that 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  They  did  not 
speak  nor  did  they  meet  again  that  day,  but 
he  was  resolved  to  breakfast  with  her  in  the 
morning. 

Morning  opened  brilliantly  and  as  he  entered 
the  dining  car,  at  the  time  he  knew  she  would 
be  there,  he  saw  that  the  sun  which  had  but 
just  climbed  lazily  above  the  mountain  tops, 
was  engaged  in  the  task  of  gilding  her  hair.  He 
advanced  with  more  courage  than  he  had  on 
the  first  occasion. 

"Good  morning,  the  world  is  in  a  good  hu- 
mor to-day,  is  it  not,"  was  his  comment  as  he 
took  his  seat.  "Have  you  noticed  that  the 
sun,  whose  business  it  is  to  indicate  the  world's 
moods,  has  leaped  through  the  window  and  is 

874 


THE  RELEASE  375 

playing  with  your  head  when  he  isn't  dancing 
on  the  table-cloth?" 

She  looked  up  smilingly,  but  before  she  could 
answer,  there  came  an  interruption.  The 
door  of  the  car  opened  and  there  stalked  up 
to  them  the  big  conductor,  owner  of  the  stub- 
by red  moustache,  with  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  indicated  that  he  had  swift  remarks 
to  make.  He  broke  out  promptly:  "Mr. 
Stafford,  you  are  wanted  at  the  wire,  and,  you 
bet,  there's  something  doing." 

Pleasant  to  the  looker-on,  as  to  them,  are 
the  relations  and  understandings  regarding 
the  little  side  issues  and  incidents  of  life  be- 
tween a  man  and  woman  of  intelligence  and 
education  when  they  are  in  love  with  each 
other,  even  though  that  love  must  be  re- 
pressed and  unexpressed.  The  interjection 
of  the  conductor  was  delightful  to  the  woman 
in  this  case,  because  it  was  an  involuntary 
compliment  to  the  man  opposite  her  at  the 
table.  It  was  the  breaking  in  of  a  fine  hire- 
ling upon  the  man  of  brains  and  accomplish- 
ments, the  call  upon  him  for  aid  in  this  time 
of  casual  need.  Stafford's  heart  danced  as 
he  caught  the  look,  because  he  recognized  its 
full  significance. 


376  THE  CASSOWARY 

And  then  as  he  rose  he  grinned,  because  he 
saw  that  the  conductor  was  evidently  in  trouble. 
His  face  indicated  that.  There  was  one  appre- 
ciative look  into  the  face  of  the  smiling  woman 
and  then  he  went  out  to  deal  as  he  might  with 
the  existing  condition  of  affairs.  He  rather 
enjoyed  these  frequent  interviews  with  the 
coining  saviors.  They  had  a  smart  operator 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  and,  as  he  had 
learned,  the  boss  of  the  rescuing  train  was 
assuredly  a  railroad  man  of  might  and  much 
acuteness.  They  had,  as  already  told,  in- 
dulged hi  a  verbal  brush  or  two.  Connection 
was  made  and  the  first  thing  Stafford  got  was : 

"Can't  you  chumps  do  anything  over  there?" 

"Do  anything!"  was  Stafford's  reply.  "Do 
anything!  We  are  a  dead  train,  lying  helpless, 
with  our  nose  stuck  into  four  hundred  thou- 
sand million  feet  of  packed  snow!  What  are 
you  doing,  yourselves,  with  all  the  engines  you 
want  and  a  snow-plow,  and  all  the  men  you 
want?  It  strikes  me  that  as  butters-in  you 
are  about  the  worst  existing." 

And  then  from  the  boss  of  the  rescuing  train 
Stafford  listened  to  clicked  language  the  recol- 
lection of  which  was  ever  afterward  among  the 
delights  of  his  life.  It  referred  to  his  personal 


THE  RELEASE  377 

character  and  to  his  ancestry  and  to  a  large 
variety  of  things  besides.  It  was  an  admirable 
effort,  an  oration  trimmed  with  red  exclusively. 

And  Stafford,  understanding  that  something 
would,  naturally,  be  expected  of  him  hi  return, 
cut  loose  with  his  own  store  of  expletives.  His 
four  years'  absence  from  the  country  had  left 
him  somewhat  deficient  hi  modern  Ameri- 
canisms, but,  during  that  time,  as  became  a 
man  handling  lazy  coolies,  he  had  acquired  a 
stock  of  Orientalisms  that  were  not  altogether 
without  merit,  and  these  he  launched  at  the 
gentleman  with  whom  he  was  engaged  in 
conversation. 

Evidently  the  man  at  the  other  end  was 
delighted,  for  this  was  his  reply : 

"I  don't  know  who  you  are  who  appear  to  be 
running  things  over  there,  but  you  seem  to 
have  some  stuff  in  you." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Stafford,  "but  we've 
got  some  curiosity  over  here.  What  have  you 
got  for  a  snow-plow,  anyhow — a  mowing- 
machine,  or  a  reaper?" 

"We'll  show  you,  my  child!  Oh,  we'll  show 
you!  And  I've  got  some  mighty  good  news  for 
you.  Things  are  doing.  We've  thrown  away 
the  trinket  we've  been  trying  to  use,  because 


378  THE  CASSOWARY 

we've  just  got  a  new  snow-plow  from  the  East. 
She's  a  monster,  and  a  beauty  of  the  new  style. 
Why,  she  just  lives  on  snow — wants  a  mountain 
of  it  for  breakfast,  two  for  dinner,  another  for 
supper,  throws  away  what  she  doesn't  eat,  and 
throws  it  a  mile !  She's  eating  her  way  toward 
you  now,  and  she's  eating  mighty  fast.  She 
was  hungrier  than  usual  to-day.  Watch  our 
smoke,  that  is  if  you  can  see  it  above  the  snow 
she  throws,  and  we're  making  lots  of  smoke, 
too.  We'll  save  your  sinful  bodies,  if  we  can't 
your  souls,  this  very  day.  Get  ready  for  mov- 
ing. We'll  be  with  you  somewhere  between  one 
and  four  o'clock.  Good-by." 

Stafford  gave  a  whoop — he  couldn't  help  it— 
and  imparted  the  good  news  to  those  about 
him.  In  no  time  it  was  all  over  the  train,  and 
then,  to  the  accompaniment  of  satisfied  exclama- 
tions, there  was  bustle  and  a  gathering  together 
of  things  everywhere,  for  during  the  long  wait 
there  had  been  much  scattering  of  personal 
belongings.  This  was  a  business  soon  accom- 
plished, to  be  followed  by  a  period  of  excited 
waiting. 

It  was  almost  precisely  three  o'clock  when 
the  prisoners,  listening  like  those  at  Lucknow, 
heard,  faint  and  far  beyond  the  snowdrifts, 


THE  RELEASE  379 

something  like  the  piper's  blast.  It  was  the 
distant  triumphant  whoop  of  a  locomotive. 
Nearer  and  more  loudly  it  approached  and, 
presently,  in  the  distance,  could  be  perceived 
dimly  a  column  of  smoke.  The  advance  was 
not  rapid,  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  neither  was 
it  very  slow,  and,  at  last,  the  whooping  monster 
was  in  sight,  or,  rather,  not  the  monster  itself, 
but  a  cloud  of  smoke  in  front  of  which,  swirling, 
and  dense,  was  a  roaring  snowstorm.  The  end 
was  nearly  reached.  The  relief  train,  its  engi- 
neers still  overworking  their  whistles,  came  on, 
the  snow-plow  still  doing  its  fierce  work,  until 
the  two  trains  stood  there  close  together,  the 
nozzle  of  the  locomotive  resting  against  the 
snow-plow  lovingly. 

There  was  a  scramble  of  people  from  the 
train  so  long  imprisoned  as  there  was  also  from 
the  rescuing  train,  and  there  followed  a  general 
time  of  hand-shaking  and  congratulation. 
Stafford  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  train 
boss  with  whom  he  had  been  talking  in  the 
morning,  and  took  a  fancy  to  that  rugged- and 
accomplished  civil  engineer  and  railroad  man 
at  once,  as  evidently  did  the  other  man  to  him. 
Then  came  business.  The  boss  explained  the 
situation : 


380  THE  CASSOWARY 

"You  are  in  our  way.  We  have  work  to  do 
in  behind  you,  and  we  can't  pass  you.  We've 
got  to  get  you  back  to  the  siding,  about  ten  miles 
from  here.  We'll  have  to  haul  you,  I  suppose. 
Have  you  any  coal?" 

"Not  ten  pounds,"  was  the  answer  of  the 
engineer  of  the  rescued  train.  "Used  it  all  up; 
and  mighty  carefully,  too,  for  heat.  Been 
using  bushes  for  wood.  Another  day  and 
there'd  have  been  trouble.  Lucky  it  hasn't 
been  very  cold." 

"Yes,  we  expected  that,  and  can  supply  you. 
We've  a  flat  car  load  along.  We'll  haul  you 
back  to  the  siding  and  get  the  coal  on  there. 
It's  the  only  way." 

The  coupling  was  made,  the  slow  retreat  of 
the  rescuing  train  to  the  siding,  taking  over  an 
hour,  accomplished,  as  was  the  transfer  of  coal 
and  water,  with  great  difficulty  and  much  work 
of  trainmen,  and,  at  last,  the  train  from  San 
Francisco  was  itself  again.  It  moved  forward, 
its  passengers  cheering  the  train  on  the  side 
track  which  was  also  pulling  out,  but  toward  the 
West.  The  episode  was  over.  Upon  the  rear 
platform  of  the  last  car  as  the  train  drew  east- 
ward stood,  all  alone,  the  big  blonde  porter. 

The    train    was    whirling    toward    Denver. 


THE  RELEASE  381 

There  was  a  great  reunion  after  supper,  presided 
over  by  Colonel  Livingston,  of  course,  to  cele- 
brate, as  the  Young  Lady  expressed  it,  their 
providential  escape  from  the  largest  island  of 
Juan  Fernandez  in  the  world,  but  the  Far  Away 
Lady  was  not  present.  Stafford  wondered, 
and  was  restless  and  disappointed.  As  time 
wore  on,  he  could  not  endure  it  very  well,  and, 
withdrawing  quietly,  went  forward  to  her  car, 
adjoining.  What  he  saw  as  he  entered — and 
the  sight  gladdened  him,  for  he  feared  that  she 
had  retired — was  the  lady  sitting  alone  by  the 
window,  still,  and  apparently  dreaming.  He 
advanced  and  seated  himself  beside  her.  She 
looked  at  him  and  smiled,  but  said  nothing. 

"Why  are  you  not  in  the  Cassowary  with  all 
the  rest?"  he  asked.  "They  are  rejoicing." 

She  made  no  answer  to  his  question:  "I 
hope  you  are  happy,  John,"  she  said  gently. 
"I  heard  of  your  marriage  to  the  American 
girl  at  the  legation  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  I 
prayed  that" — but  she  never  finished  the  sen- 
tence. 

"Wh-a-t!"  gasped  Stafford,  "Married!  I— 
What  the — "  — and  he  almost  forgot  himself, 
this  man  fresh  from  handling  coolies — then 
more  gently  and  most  sadly:  "Agnes,  you 


382  THE  CASSOWARY 

should  have  known  better!  Oh,  you  should 
have  known  better!  There  was  a  Stafford 
married  there,  it  is  true,  a  relation  of  mine,  a 
cousin.  It  was  through  him  I  made  my  Rus- 
sian connection — but,  Agnes,  how  could  you! 
Did  you  think  there  was  room  in  my  heart  for 
another  woman,  and  so  soon?  But  women 
are  strange  creatures,"  he  concluded  bitterly. 

She  could  not  answer  him  at  first,  though  the 
light  which  came  into  her  face  should  have 
represented  courage;  she  could  but  murmur 
brokenly : 

"Forgive  me.  You  must  do  that — but,  oh, 
John,  what  could  I  think?  It  all  seemed  so 
assured.  And  I  was  half  insane,  and  doubting 
all  the  world.  And  now,  now  you  have  made 
me  very  happy.  I  cannot  tell  you" — and  she 
failed,  weakly,  for  words. 

Every  thought  and  impulse  of  the  man 
changed  on  the  moment.  A  great  wave  of 
tenderness  swept  over  him: 

"Forgive  you?  Of  course  I  do,"  he  said 
impetuously,  "I  can  understand.  Poor  girl, 
you  must  have  suffered.  Who  wouldn't  at 
the  unveiling  of  such  a  man?"  Then  came  the 
more  regardful  thought : 


UWE  SHALL  MEET  AT  BREAKFAST" 


THE  RELEASE  383 

"But  how  is  it  with  you,  Agnes?  Is  life  as 
black  as  ever?" 

"My  husband  died  two  years  ago,"  she  barely 
whispered. 

The  eyes  of  those  who  have  been  long  im- 
prisoned cannot,  at  first,  when  freedom  comes, 
see  in  the  ordinary  light  of  day,  much  less  when 
it  is  glorious  sunlight,  and  it  was  some  moments 
before  the  souls'  eyes  of  these  two  became 
accustomed  to  its  splendor.  Even  then,  no 
word  was  said.  They  were  alone.  He  but 
gathered  her  closely  hi  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
without  stint.  He  had  been  starving  long 
enough.  So  he  held  her  for  a  time  and,  when 
he  released  her  and  spoke  at  last,  it  was  but  to 
say  in  a  voice  by  no  means  modulated : 

"Agnes,  I  cannot  talk,  and  you  know  why. 
I  am  going  away  now.  We  shall  meet  at  break- 
fast. I  but  thank  God." 

And  so  he  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LOVE'S  INSOLENCE 

The  easy  impudence,  the  loving  insolence,  the 
large,  feudal  lord  air  of  proprietorship,  of  the 
man  who  has  just  come  into  possession  of  the 
one  woman  is  sometimes  a  development  beyond 
belief.  Reprehensible,  certainly. 

Stafford  had  not  slept  much.  All  night 
he  had  lain  awake,  trying  to  realize  what 
it  was  that  had  come  to  him,  the  beneficence 
of  Providence,  the  magnitude  of  what  earth  has 
sometimes  to  give.  It  was  only  with  dawn 
that  he  slept  at  all,  and  his  dreams  were  good. 
As  for  her,  the  Far  Away  Lady,  who  shall  tell 
what  thoughts  or  dreams  were  hers? 

He  came  into  the  dining  car  that  morning, 
refreshed  and  exalted,  and  overlooking  and 
sweeping  as  an  eagle  in  his  first  morning  swing 
from  his  eyrie.  He  was  splendidly  intolerable, 
this  triumphant  lover  who  had  recovered  his 
equipoise  and  was  himself  of  the  years  ago. 
Any  lofty  simile  would  do  for  him.  He  came 
stalking  in  like  a  king  to  a  coronation,  with 


884 


LOVE'S  INSOLENCE  385 

but  one  redeeming  feature  to  the  look  upon  his 
face,  an  expression  which  resembled  gratitude. 
And  who  was  it  that  entered  the  car  a  moment 
or  two  after  he  had  seated  himself  at  the  break- 
fast table?  Could  this  flush-faced,  slender  crea- 
ture, bright  and  almost  challenging  of  eye,  be 
the  Far  Away  Lady,  she  of  the  sad  and  dreamy 
look!  It  was  she,  certainly.  Dr.  Love,  you 
are  a  wonder!  All  the  other  physicians  of  the 
world,  all  the  health  resorts  of  the  world,  can 
neither  advise  nor  have  effect  toward  swift 
recuperation  in  comparison  with  you  unham- 
pered !  They  are  but  as  vapors,  or  as  the  things 
which  are  not. 

The  greetings  of  the  morning  were  exchanged 
— it  was  nearly  noon,  by  the  way,  for  they  had 
lain  long  at  Denver — the  breakfast  was  ordered 
and  then  he  leaned  back  and  looked  in  her  face, 
smilingly:  "Where  shall  we  live?"  he  asked 
blandly,  as  if  it  were  but  a  resumed  conversation. 
"Have  you  fallen  in  love  with  lotus-eating  in 
Southern  California,  or  are  there  other  regions, 
still?" 

Did  my  lady  lately,  so  "sober,  steadfast  and 
demure,"  blanche  or  start  at  this  daring,  over- 
bearing opening?  Not  she.  She  may  have 
blushed  a  little,  but  well  she  knew  the  ways  of 


386  THE  CASSOWARY 

her  whimsical,  perplexing  lover.  Her  eyes 
flashed  back  at  his  with  the  tender,  quizzical 
look  in  them  and  she  laughed.  Then  a  soberer 
expression  came,  and  she  spoke  earnestly  and 
thoughtfully : 

"I  have  heard  homesick  people,  living  among 
the  oranges,  speak  longingly  of  a  place  they 
called  'God's  country.'  I  think  we  should  make 
our  home  somewhere  hi  'God's  country,'  do  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  exclaimed  delightedly,  "but 
where  and  what  is  'God's  country?'  We  hear 
about  it,  but  its  boundaries  seem  undefined. 
I  take  it  that  each  individual  has  his  or  her  ideal. 
I  am  confident,  though,  that  ours  are  the  same. 
Is  not  that  "so?" 

"To  me,"  she  spoke  bravely,  "  'God's  country' 
is,  first  of  all,  where  you  are,  and,"  she  added 
reverently,  "of  course  God  is  everywhere." 

"Bless  you,"  he  said,  "but,  go  on.  Let  us 
consider  what  we  two  think  the  essentials  for 
our  own  'God's  country.' ' 

"It  must  be  a  country  where  the  grass  grows, 
where  sod,  turf,  close-woven  grass,  cover  the 
ground,"  she  answered  promptly.  "The  raw, 
unkempt  plains  and  hills  of  the  arid  regions 
are  not  for  us,  nor  is  the  stormless  life  of  the 


LOVE'S  INSOLENCE  387 

land  of  oranges  and  grapes.  We  want,  first 
of  all,  the  good  green  sod,  and,  next,  trees, 
waving,  luxuriant  elms  and  oaks  and  ash  and 
beech  and  all  their  kindred,  and  their  vines  as 
well,  wild  grapes  and  ivy  and  bitter-sweet." 

He  smiled.  "You  have  begun  with  the  com- 
mand in  Genesis,  instructing  the  Earth  to  bear, 
and  so  on,  but  I  should  go  one  step  back  hi  the 
epic  of  Creation  and  say,  let  us  live  by  the  waters 
where  they  are  'gathered  together  unto  one 
place.'  We  must  have  a  great  body  of  water 
near  us  and,  we  must  have  ram." 

"Yes,  in  summer,  rain;  in  winter,  snow.  I 
want  the  four  seasons." 

"I  don't  know  where  we  are  to  find  four,  that 
is  an  absolutely  complete  four,"  he  said.  "We 
can  rarely  boast  a  spring  in  its  entirety.  It 
seems  to  exist  only  in  the  dreams  of  the  poets, 
or  in  England.  I  saw  a  real  spring  in  England. 
But  there  are  some  pretty  fair  imitations  of  it, 
I'll  admit,  in  many  of  our  states,  notably,  for 
instance,  in  Michigan  and  Wisconsin."  Adroit, 
time-serving  man! 

"Well,  we  can  get  along  without  an  elaborate 
spring,"  she  laughed,  "if  we  can  have  a  June,  a 
real  June,  once  a  year." 

And  so  they  considered  deliciously  until  it  was 


388  THE  CASSOWARY 

decided  that  "God's  country"  for  them,  implied 
a  green  country  in  summer  and  a  white  country 
in  winter,  with  vast  water  near,  if  possible,  and 
that  from  Maine  to  the  Western  Mountains  it 
existed,  all  without  prejudice  to  other  ' 'God's 
countries"  for  other  mortals  elsewhere  born. 

Straightforward,  reckless,  trusting  confidence, 
was  it  not,  this  conversation  between  the  man 
and  woman  thus  rejoined,  but  he  was  of  the  sort 
who  do  things,  and  she  was  a  woman  given 
fully.  Besides — though  in  a  world  which  ended 
— they  had  dreamed  before. 

This  matter  of  great  importance  settled,  there 
was  silence  for  a  time.  He  looked  upon  her 
with  devouring  eyes.  At  last  he  broke  forth : 

"Now  I  want  to  draw  my  breath,  but  find  it 
difficult.  I  am  going  to  lean  back  and  study 
you  and  try  to  think  of  the  world  as  it  has 
rearranged  itself.  I  have  not  grasped  it  all  yet. 
It  is  odd ;  it  is  great !  I  have  you  and  you  can't 
get  away  from  me  now!  It  is  wonderful,  this 
sudden  possession,  the  possession  rightly,  even 
in  all  the  conventional,  in  all  that  the  weakling 
centuries  dictate.  No  wonder  that  I  am  dazed. 
Ever  as  the  world  revolves,  come  new  revela- 
tions of  thought  and  of  all  existence.  I  dreamed 
that  I  knew  things,  but  I  didn't. 


LOVE'S  INSOLENCE  389 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  dearie? 
My  heart  is  like  a  kettle  in  which  everything  is 
boiling,  and  it  is  foaming  over  the  top  with  love 
for  you.  Can  you  not  help  me?  What  are  you 
going  to  put  into  the  kettle  to  stop  this  unseemly 
boiling?  I  don't  want  you  to  pour  in  cold  water, 
or  take  the  kettle  off,  or  put  the  fire  out.  Oh, 
well,  let  'er  boil!  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  that 
you  will  have  to  take  care  of  me  most  of  the 
time.  I'm  irresponsible. 

"Let  us  talk  about  something  practical,  my 
dear  woman,"  he  rambled  on.  "You  look  at 
me  with  your  great  eyes,  and  you  know  what 
the  inevitable  is.  You  know  that  you  and  I 
must  face  the  world  and  all  its  dragons  to- 
gether after  this.  What  fun  it  wih1  be!  Have 
you  any  suggestions  to  make?  By  the  way,  I 
like  the  trick  of  the  top  of  your  garments,  the 
arrangement  about  your  throat.  You  have 
tact  and  taste,  and  sense,  my  dear,  yet  you  lack 
a  mountain  of  judgment  and  discretion.  You 
have  intrusted  yourself  to  me,  reckless  person! 
Now,  cut  loose  and  tell  me  something.  I  think 
that  expression  'cut  loose'  is  one  of  the  best  of 
all  our  Americanisms.  Tell  me  something." 

What  could  the  woman  say?  She  was  puz- 
zled over  this  wild,  fumbling-thoughted  lover, 


390  THE  CASSOWARY 

with  his  commingled  gleams  of  fact  and  fancy. 
But  ever  to  the  more  admirable  of  the  sexes 
comes  divination.  There  came  into  this  gentle 
woman's  mind  a  sudden  radiance  of  compre- 
hension. She  knew  what  he  was  seeking.  He 
wanted  her,  with  all  the  selfishness  of  love,  to 
be  foolish  with  him.  And  this  is  what  she 
said: 

"I  don't  know.  I  only  know  what  I  think 
of  his  heart  and  soul,  of  the  resources  and 
qualities  of  one  man  in  the  world  and  that 
I  am  but  the  dependent  woman — and  I  am 
most  content,  dear." 

Then  she  became  more  venturesome  and 
spoke  more  definitely  and  practically,  as  she 
knew  he  wished  her  to.  She  looked  him 
squarely  in  the  eyes: 

"Make  that  place  for  us  across  the  lake,  the 
place  of  which  we  dreamed.  Never  mind  now 
about  the  town  house.  That  will  take  care  of 
itself,  but  the  dream  place,  the  'Shack,'  will  not. 
When  you  were  working  with  your  coolies 
in  another  hemisphere  I  hope  and  believe  you 
had  your  dreams  about  me,  hopeless  as  they 
may  have  seemed.  I  want  to  tell  you,  great 
heart,  that  men  do  not  dream  all  the  dreams. 
Is  it  unwomanly,  is  it  not  just  to  you  and  as  it 


LOVE'S  INSOLENCE  391 

should  be  that  I  should  say  to  you  now  that 
the  woman  in  America" — and  her  voice  was 
tremulous — "was  dreaming  quite  as  constantly 
and  sadly  as  the  man  upon  the  Russian  steppes." 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadfastly  and  in  her 
eyes  were  tears  and  the  light  which  gleams  only 
when  the  dearest  of  all  fires  is  burning,  a  light 
reflected  and  intensified,  if  that  were  possible, 
in  the  eyes  of  him  who  was  leaning  silently 
forward  and  hardly  breathing.  She  had  grati- 
fied his  wish.  She  had  "cut  loose." 

They  looked  out  upon  the  Kansas  prairie, 
across  which  the  train  was  scurrying.  There 
were  occasional  houses,  far  apart,  but  the 
notable  objects  of  the  landscape  were  gaunt 
windmills  which  in  midsummer  drew  water 
for  the  herds  of  cattle  which  even  at  this  season 
could  be  seen  huddled,  more  or  less  comfortably, 
here  and  there.  The  wind  had  swept  bare  great 
patches  of  pasture  land  and  some  of  the  cattle 
were  browsing  contentedly  upon  the  dried 
grass  left  in  autumn.  There  were  many  herds 
of  them  but  the  simile  of  "cattle  on  a  thousand 
hills"  did  not  apply,  for  there  were  no  hills. 
The  travelers  looked  out  upon  what  was  but 
an  illimitable  white  blanket,  with  dots  upon  it. 


392  THE  CASSOWARY 

They  looked  upon  a  great  country,  but  it  was 
not  for  them. 

They  left  the  dining  car  and  visited  the 
Cassowary,  where  were  still  assembled  a  number 
of  the  group  for  whom  through  the  days  of 
imprisonment  the  luxurious  sleeper  had  been 
a  gathering-place,  but  they  did  not  linger  there. 
They  sought  the  sleeping-car  of  the  Far  Away 
Lady  where  they  lingered  until  night  fell,  for 
what  they  had  said  to  each  other  was  only  the 
beginning.  They  had  much  to  tell,  and  when 
Stafford  slept  that  night  there  came  to  him  no 
vexing  or  distempered  dreams.  He  had  come 
to  a  full  realization  of  his  new  world  and  all 
its  points  of  compass.  To  this  strong,  almost 
turbulent  character  a  great  peace  and  content 
had  come.  Though  he  was  lying  in  the  berth 
of  a  sleeping  car  there  were  in  his  ears,  vague 
and  incomplete  words  of  the  hackneyed  but 
pleasant  benediction: 

"Sleep  sweet  within  this  quiet  room,  *  *  *  whoe'er  thou 
art,  *  *  *  no  mournful  yesterdays  *  *  *  disturb  thy 
heart." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AT  LAST 

Stafford  waited  for  the  Far  Away  Lady  in 
the  morning — she  was  to  come  to  breakfast 
at  ten  o'clock — and  met  her  as  she  entered  the 
Cassowary.  They  went  into  the  dining  car 
together,  and,  as  they  seated  themselves,  she 
noted  the  added  buoyancy  of  his  look  and  was 
prepared  for  anything.  The  breakfast  ordered, 
he  leaned  back  and  asked  complacently : 

"What  do  you  think  of  clocks?" 

The  Far  Away  Lady  looked  at  him  in  mild 
amazement:  "Are  you  not  a  trifle  vague?" 
she  asked.  "Is  not  that  like  what  I  have  heard 
you  call  too  much  of  a  'general  proposition'? 
How  can  I  answer  you  when  I  do  not  know 
what  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  well,  maybe  it  was  only  a  sort  of  'gen- 
eral proposition,'  but  it  was  in  earnest.  This, 
my  dear,  is  an  important  subject.  They  have 
clocks  in  houses,  do  they  not?  Now,  it  so 
happens  that  I  am  mightily  interested  in  a 
home  and,  so,  am  necessarily  interested  in 


393 


394  THE  CASSOWARY 

clocks.  This  home  is  not  yet  made,  but  it  is 
as  sure  as  anything  within  man's  mortal  scope 
may  be,  and  clocks  are  part  of  the  general 
theme.  My  dear  lady,  help  me  out." 

She  looked  upon  him  indulgently  hi  his 
lunacy.  She  understood,  as  she  had  the  day 
before,  though  now  the  understanding  was 
simple,  since  she  had  the  key  to  his  mood. 
Besides,  even  hi  the  exuberance  of  his  feelings, 
he  was  apparently,  not  quite  so  royally  drivel- 
ing, as  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  outbreak. 
Her  look  grew  almost  motherly  as  he  checked 
himself  suddenly  and  informed  her  that  he  was 
pinching  his  arm  to  be  sure  that  everything 
was  true. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "there  is  a  great  deal 
to  clocks.  They  are  wonderfully  cheering  and 
companionable.  Their  ticking,  after  a  little, 
never  annoys  you,  and  you  somehow,  come  to 
really  need  it  and  to  feel  a  loss  when  the  clock 
is  stopped.  It  is,  hi  a  way,  like  the  sound  of 
the  cricket  on  the  hearth.  While  it  is  ticking 
you  feel  as  if  you  had  something  alive  and 
friendly  about  you." 

"I  like  clocks,  too,"  said  the  Far  Away  Lady, 
smiling  into  his  foolish  face. 

"I  had  two  clocks  in  China,"  went  on  the 


AT  LAST  395 

beaming  Stafford  and  I  had  them  with  me 
wherever  I  was  stationed.  The  transportation 
of  such  things  was  .a  nuisance,  but  they  paid 
their  way.  One  was  a  pretty  clock  with  a  softly 
beaming  face,  who  struck  the  hours  with  a 
delightful  chime.  The  other  was  a  little  alarm 
clock,  and  he  was  noisy  and  tough.  He  was  a 
profligate.  He  became  confidential  with  me, 
but  there  was  always  a  certain  reservation. 
Our  souls  never  got  absolutely  close  together, 
but  he  was  a  bulwark  and  a  brother.  He  was 
all  there.  The  charming  clock  with  the  chime 
I  called  St.  Cecelia,  and  the  little  tough  clock 
I  called  Billy.  Sweetheart,  you  can  hardly 
imagine  what  a  comfort  the  two  were  to  me. 
Away  off  there  in  the  gray  wastes  of  a  vast  ter- 
ritory, an  engineer  solving  his  problems  practi- 
cally alone,  longing  occasionally  for  companion- 
ship and  finding  it  not  among  the  alien  Russian 
assistants  or  among  the  flat-faced  Celestial 
laborers — well,  then  I'd  go  hi  to  St.  Cecelia 
and  Billy,  and  she  would  console  softly  and 
Billy  would  tick  and  swear  with  me  in  the  most 
intimate  companionship  and  understanding, 
and  brace  me  up.  Why,  my  girl,  that  clock 
was  my  right  hand  man  and  my  adviser.  I 
don't  suppose  he  really  advised,  but  he  was 


396  THE  CASSOWARY 

somehow,  always  on  deck.  Billy  and  St. 
Cecelia  are  both  in  my  baggage  now." 

"Billy  appeals  to  me,"  said  the  lady.  "Did 
he  always  awaken  you?" 

"No,"  admitted  Stafford,  "I  was  usually 
awakened  by  the  racket  of  the  coolies.  Their 
clatter  and  chatter  made  them  worse  than 
sparrows.  It  wasn't  Billy's  utility  as  an  alarm 
clock  which  endeared  him,  but  a  sort  of  personal 
affection  which  developed  in  me  because  he 
really  deserved  it.  We  were  drawn  together. 
St.  Cecelia  and  I  respected  and  admired  each 
other,  but  Billy  was  such  a  flagrant  fellow  and 
whooped  it  up  so  when  he  struck  that  I  got 
rather  to  lean  upon  him  when  I  had  anything 
approaching  the  blues.  I  had  them,  some- 
times," said  he  more  slowly  and  looking  at  her 
earnestly,  "but  Billy  always  sounded  a  note 
of  reckless  plunging  ahead  and  hopefulness." 

Here  he  stopped  talking,  apparently  seized 
with  a  sudden  inspiration.  Then,  after  a 
moment,  he  went  on  in  the  most  casual  manner : 
"By  the  way,  dear,  why  can't  we  have  Billy  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  Shack?  His  hands  show 
clearly  against  his  face  and  he'd  be  excessively 
good  to  boil  eggs  by." 

The  fair  countenance  of  the  woman  became 


AT  LAST  397 

suffused  and  the  depths  of  her  eyes  were  sud- 
denly peopled  beyond  all  the  vision  of  any 
fate-reader's  crystal.  All  the  nymphs  of  love 
and  sweet  regard  were  there.  She,  like  him, 
had  been  dreaming  much  of  the  Shack  since 
their  parting  of  the  night  before,  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  also  had  been  thinking  of  it,  was 
something  wonderful  to  her.  He,  too,  then  had 
been  having  fancies  about  the  Shack,  the  dream 
home  by  the  side  of  the  water,  the  vision  of  the 
past,  the  certainty,  now,  of  the  future.  They 
would  never  abandon  that  idea.  And  now 
there  came  to  her — she  could  see  nothing  else — 
the  miserable  scene  of  the  years  past,  the  shore 
and  the  blue  lake  waters  and  the  man  with 
bursting  heart  drawing  a  picture  which  was  at 
the  time  indeed  a  fantasy,  talking  bravely, 
seeking  to  hide  his  own  suffering  and  make  hers 
less,  to  gloss  over  the  hard  aspect  of  the  parting, 
— and  failing  miserably. 

She  reached  her  hand  across  and  put  it  in 
that  of  Stafford: 

"We  will  have  Billy  and  St.  Cecelia  both," 
she  whispered. 

Now  these  were  not  young  people  in  their 
'teens  nor  in  the  early  twenties,  yet  they  said 
and  did  what  is  now  being  told  of  them.  Is 


398  THE  CASSOWARY 

the  gold  of  the  world,  are  all  its  great  passions 
and  vast  affection,  but  for  the  callow ! 

"There  be  three  things  which  are  too  wonder- 
ful for  me,  yea,  four,"  saith  the  venerable  and 
justly  popular  author  of  Proverbs,  and  he  con- 
cludes and  crowns  the  list  with  "the  way  of  a 
man  with  a  maid."  He  might  have  made  the 
same  comment  regarding  the  way  of  a  maid 
with  a  man,  but  either  way  is  insignificant  in 
comparison  with  the  ways  of  an  intelligent 
man  and  woman  in  the  full  flux  and  prime  of 
life,  and  who  have  learned.  There  is  a  differ- 
ence indescribable  between  youth  and  those 
who  have  come  to  the  understanding  compre- 
hension of  what  is  the  greatest  thing  hi  the 
world.  They  own  the  consciousness  of  its 
magnitude,  a  knowledge  which  the  others  lack. 
Talk  about  love-making !  Theirs  is  the  uncon- 
scious, intense  and  honest  art  of  the  old  masters. 

He  dawdled  on  hi  his  day  dream:  "You 
know  about  the  dogs,  don't  you?" — she  nodded 
— "and  we'll  have  chickens,  of  course,  far  from 
the  house  and  garden,  snow-white  Leghorns, 
since  they  lay  voraciously — 'voracious'  is  the 
word — and  eggs  are  the  spice  of  life.  There'll 
be  other  things  to  eat,  too,  and  in  sunny  cleared 
places  in  the  wood  there  will  be  the  most 


AT  LAST  399 

voluptuous  asparagus  and  strawberry  beds  in 
the  world,  and,  as  for  the  eye  and  nose,  your 
own  flower  garden,  near  the  Shack, — Have  we 
not  talked  of  it,  somewhere,  before? — what  a 
garden  that  will  be!  I  know  it  already,  because 
I  know  your  fancies.  No  park  gardening  there, 
but  the  natural  beauty  and  abandon  of  nature 
with  a  friend  at  hand.  I  can  shut  my  eyes 
and  see  the  roses  and  the  dahlias  and  the  holly- 
hocks and  the  old-fashioned  pinks  and  the 
lilacs  and  all  the  old  flowers  and  shrubs  and  a 
host  of  the  newer  ones  which  have  won  a 
deserved  place  since  Plymouth  Rock  and  James- 
town, and  there  is  in  my  nostrils  a  blending  of 
perfumes  that  makes  any  mention  of  Araby  the 
Blest  seem  puerile,  while  the  desert  that  'shall 
rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose'  will  be  but 
as  a  sand  spit  compared  with  our  responsive 
but  untamed  estate. 

"And,"  he  continued,  "there  is  a  fad  of  my 
own  which  I  have  not  yet  mentioned.  I  am 
going  to  be  a  benefactor  of  mankind — I  suppose 
it  was  in  me  and  had  to  come  out — and  our 
jungle  home  will  afford  the  opportunity  for 
carrying  out  my  beneficent  designs.  I  am 
going  to  make  a  domestic  bird  of  one  of  the 
most  desirable  of  birds  existent.  I  refer  to  the 


400  THE  CASSOWARY 

quail,  the  bird  that  whistles  on  country  fences 
and  doesn't  on  toast.  I'm  going  to  get  a  lot 
of  them  and  treat  them  as  if  they  were  and  had 
always  been  part  of  the  family.  They  shall 
have  a  great  wire-covered  range  and  all  con- 
veniences of  an  outdoor  home,  and  I'm  going 
to  keep  on  raising  them  and  experimenting  and 
trying  until  I  have  a  really  tame  quail,  one  with 
atrophied  wings  and  a  trusting  heart.  That 
we'll  do,  dear,  and  coming  generations  shall 
rise  up  and  call  us  blessed." 

She  looked  upon  him  still  indulgently.  It 
was  all  concerning  their  life  across  the  lake,  and 
slight  wonder  was  it  that  she  was  at  one  with 
him  in  his  dreaming,  he  the  man  of  action,  the 
man  with  the  sense  of  humor  and  perception 
of  the  grotesque,  who  always  laughed  at  things, 
— that  he  should  thus  idle  so  happily  in  fancy 
with  the  Shack  and  its  surroundings,  well,  she 
felt  in  its  fullness  love's  compliment  to  her. 
She  knew  the  keynote  of  it  all  and  but  encour- 
aged him  with  speaking  eyes.  He  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  now  but  he  turned  to  her  in 
a  moment : 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  we  are 
already  getting  a  little  of  the  flavor  of  our  own 
country.  I'll  be  imagining  the  Pines  of  Saginaw 


AT  LAST  401 

next.  Look  out  upon  that  expanse  of  snow." 
— The  train  was  tearing  down  through  the 
Des  Moines  valley  now — "That  is  snow,  real 
snow,  no  tremendous,  swirling,  threatening 
drifts,  no  dead  expanse  with  bare,  bleak  spots, 
but  instead,  a  great  soft  mantle,  protecting  the 
germs  of  the  coming  crops  and  the  ally,  not  the 
enemy  of  man.  How  white  it  is,  as  it  has  a 
right  to  be.  It  means  well.  It  is  cold,  but  it 
is  second  cousin  to  the  seeds  and  to  our  own 
kind  of  spring.  It  is  well  connected." 

There  was  something  to  the  lover's  dreams 
and  vaporings.  The  quality  of  earth  and  air 
was  changing  imperceptibly  but  surely.  The 
spirit  of  the  Lake  Region  was  abroad  and  had 
wandered  even  into  Iowa. 

The  shadows  of  the  telegraph  poles,  slanting 
eastward,  became  longer  and  longer.  Stafford, 
abandoning  reluctantly  his  pictures  of  the 
future  when  the  two  should  be  together,  laughed 
quietly : 

"Will  you  always  be  so  patient?"  he  asked. 

She  laughed  as  well:  "I'm  afraid,  big  boy, 
that  there  does  not  live  a  wise  woman  who 
cares  who  would  not  be  always  patient  listening 
when  the  theme  was  such  and  the  object  such. 
Did  I  not  say  that  ponderously  and  nicely?" 
she  added.  And  he  but  laughed  again. 


402  THE  CASSOWARY 

They  made  their  way  to  the  Cassowary,  for 
there  were  many  hand-shakings  and  genial 
partings  in  progress  there  and  the  two  were, 
necessarily,  a  part  of  the  scene.  More  than  one 
lasting  friendship  had  been  formed  in  the 
luxurious  Cassowary. 

Evening  was  near.  Already  the  Pillar  of 
Cloud  by  day  looming  above  the  shore  of  the 
great  lake  was  plainly  visible.  The  slower  way 
through  the  city  was  made,  the  tram  came  to 
a  stand-still  and  upon  the  ears  of  its  inmates 
broke  all  the  varied  station  sounds,  the  calls  of 
starters,  the  clangor  of  engine  bells,  the  trucks 
and  the  shouting  of  cabmen  outside. 

Stafford  assisted  the  Far  Away  Lady — the 
Far  Away  Lady  no  longer — to  alight  from  the 
platform: 

"The  harshness  is  over/'  he  said.  "We  will 
never  part  again." 

"Never,"  she  said,  and  then,  "It  has  been  a 
long  time." 

She  had  brightened  her  grey  traveling  dress 
with  a  rose-colored  ribbon  at  her  throat,  and 
her  cheeks  were  rose-colored,  too. 

"I  would  have  come  sooner,  had  I  known," 
said  the  man. 

And  they  went  out  into  the  world  together. 

THE    END 


A    000  131  126    5 


I 


